Читать книгу We Carry Our Homes With Us - Marisella Veiga - Страница 7

Rolling

I’ve been rolling all along

Simply rolling.

See how smooth my shoulders are.

The stones know my body

And I know theirs.

They are hard, like mahogany.

I have smelled their minerals.

The stones, at times,

Were small fish swimming about.

I wanted to catch and set

Them out to dry

But the smart things rolled away.

Once, I thought I could not rise

Away from them

And keep moving on the ground.

I piled them into a ring

And like a fire

I leapt—but returned, centered.

No one steps over the ring.

I press my face

Into the warm stones and sigh.

MARISELLA VEIGA