“Look at this!”
She said grabbing a rock out of the riverbed.
My mouth drops open/
I sing its praises.
She finds another one.
And another.
One black.
One red.
One smooth.
Each rock is special,
Each rock must be worshipped and acknowledged.
She gathers six or seven,
Her eyes darting underfoot,
Red hair flying high.
“Here, momma, for you!”
“For me?” I exclaim.
I shower her with gratitude,
And hold the rock to my breast.
She says, here,
Unloading a small pile of rocks into both my hands.
“Do I have to take them all home?” I ask.
“Yes,” she states matter of factly.
I pour rocks in my pocket and we walk on.
At home, we will marvel over the miracle of rocks.
Prompt 24, Hour 24
This is wonderful. We’re told that even the smallest trinket that a child offers should be accepted with enthusiasm…because it’s all they have…and this poem IS ALL THAT! I love it!
This…brings back so many memories of picking flowers from the yard, weeds really, for my own momma…
This is priceless- rocks are such treasure. Love it.
Thank you! I was delirious when I wrote this.
Nice piece. Sweetly profound in its serious simplicity. I really enjoyed it.
Love this! I have carried many rocks home with my little girl and this brought back all those special memories. Thank you! “we will marvel over these miracle of rocks” Gorgeous ending!