by Allison Robeson
minnows race through currents,
never thinking that, like all things,
streams have ends. i hold the stone
in my hand and look out
over the rushing stream. tight in my fist
i hold my pebble, flat and smooth
like your veined papery hands on
the cold hospital sheets. nothing
halts water. i once thought
that we could build dams and hold back
onrushing oceans. but all find new paths
to follow. i hold tight to my stone
as i held your hand that summer
and wished for another day
to build dams in relentless streams
with boulders and pebbles.
you could have carried giant rocks
while i found tiny currents
and plugged them. we both know
currents will carry on anyway.
you once taught me to skip my stones,
how to wrap my fingers around them
and let them go just over the surface.
your stones would touch the opposite shore
before tumbling into the current.
i look at my stone, then fling my wrist,
watch it skip once, twice, thrice,
then sink.
Allison Robeson is nineteen and enjoys writing novels and poetry.