Poem—Jasper, Quartz, Basalt
Walking through the sandy wash, you wonder
At the stories of stones.
Water finds soft places.
It wore away the wash, but not the stones.
Jasper, quartz, basalt—these are no rounded river pebbles.
They are warm in your palm, but jagged.
They do not fit.
What strength does it take, of wind or water, to round your edges
Until you can nest, like a bird’s egg, in someone’s hand?
Notes
Method: I wrote individual sentences on slips of paper over several days, then arranged and re-arranged them at random until something flowed. I enjoyed the process and found the combinations intriguing. I especially liked that I couldn’t overthink or over-control the writing. I want to do more of this.
Q: Why do I call this a poem? Take away the line breaks, and it would make a perfectly good paragraph or two.