The rock tumbler
I had a rock tumbler when I was in third grade.
it was a gift from my grandmother
Who took my love of holding her thin-skinned hand,
with her painted nails and a perfect glittering diamond ring
admiring all the gems in the Natural History Museum
As a love for the rocks themselves.
I would put in rocks I found, and sand and I would plug it in
It woudl grind and tumble and I woudl wait
And wait
And wait
And when it was done tumbling, I took out
rocks and sand.
and now the rocks were smoother
But they were still just rocks,
and I was still just a third grader.
One day, when I was 47 and waiting for something
I walked down the street
Stopping in at all the little shops
Vintage dresses, stiff and too expensive
peeking in at the yoga studio, the Reiki place, and the strawberry shop
Where even the air tastes sweet.
I stopped into a crystal shop, organized by promise and color
Milky White stones and sunshiny yellow-
Juicy orange stones and deep red-
Inky black shiny stones
Protection, success, joy, love, peace, focus
The small ones were mostly smooth,
I think they had spent the right amount of time in the rock tumbler
Maybe I am anxious and insecure because I
don’t have the right rock.
I wanted to choose one.
Something I could put in my pocket
that would give me the resilience and peace I had somehow misplaced.
But how could I choose just one?
Best to fill my pockets with virtues
line my clothes with hope that I will be transformed
I should have held onto that rock tumbler
I wonder now if that’s not just the best damn metaphor
For all of it
We gather up and hold onto the stories of our lives
And they tumble along inside of us, and we think somehow that
Our gravel will be transformed into crystals
That will save us.
But, after years of waiting, and tumbling,
all we get is smoother gravel.
And we are still ourselves.
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