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Falling Stone
by Kristina Woodhillthe falling stone hit bottom
predictably, solidly, finally
the moss rule held
though fragile shale torn from tenuous finger holds
scattered about as the stone's random
downward scrapings left no doubt
that fallout was to be expected
the wind turned away
howling that it could not blow
a new course, a safe course
for this fast dropping object
in gravity's grip, in air's way
the canyon heard its howl
and trembled
feeling the coming
cut
deeper, wider
those who stand on the rim in awe
do not feel the knife's blade
the chisel's rasping teeth of time
rounded or irregular and hard
that's what a stone is all about
ungiving to the fleshy hand that picks it up
filling in the palm's pocket
settling for that fleeting, fingering moment
when the decision is made
to fling, skip, aim, plop, or drop,
to ground
or maybe to put in a child's pocket
to carry around
a pondering stone, a wondering
from what mountain top this one
becoming a bead on a string of worries
bored through a hole to another world
attached to a string attached to a knot
attached to a prayer in a long recitation
repetition certainly merits an answer
one would think
the stone's flight was a mere flick from the top
a toe's tangent shifting
the scrape of a foot as a view point
changed angle ever so slightly
it is a subtle thing
though the trail to that point in the path
was deliberate and foretold and worn
so the foot shifted
the toe touched
the stone fell
the shadow of light that played along the canyon's rim
helped soften the overpowering grandeur
the glaring passage of that hand's second
the time chosen fit a deformed shoe
its lacing at odds, knotted in limbo
and no one raised an eyebrow
as no one fumbled for a quarter
as no one adjusted the focus
on the far seeing scope from the rim
for they knew the stone's trajectory was a straight shot
the engraving was permanent
the texture was vermilion
the color was rubble
08/12/2007
Author's Note: dealing with the suicide of an acquaintance
Posted on 08/12/2007
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jacki M Butler on 08/13/07 at 01:18 AM This stone took a beautiful journey, I thoroughly enjoyed it |
| Posted by Susan Q Tomas on 08/13/07 at 05:27 PM I think I just found a new poet to add to my favorites. |
| Posted by Thomas Powers on 08/13/07 at 07:18 PM What a trip! It's beauty is in the detail |
| Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 08/13/07 at 10:00 PM It is fascinating that, although the stone's fate was revealed in the first line, a sense of suspense followed it all the way down... then I read your authors note, and had a glimpse of the reason. |
| Posted by David R Spellman on 08/14/07 at 12:22 AM WOW! This is incredible... brings back memories of stones I've picked up along the way. American Indians believe that certain places on the earth are "power spots" - places of incredible beauty, active with forces of nature, etc. When I have visited such places, like waterfalls, the Grand Canyon, the Cliffs of Moher (Ireland), et al, I have collected a small rock from there to keep for my own. This reminds me of that. However you have added so much to the idea of that simple act and the shifting of lives in the greater view. Again - incredible! Into my favs for sure. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/14/07 at 02:04 AM The analogy graphic and plaintive. Your note also indicates tragic.
Condolences are in order. It is surely difficult to grasp one taking one's life. When it is someone known personally it takes on incomprehension. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 08/14/07 at 02:55 PM Your accuracy on this event is stunning and on-the-level. (I almost wonder if you used a poets equivalent of an engineer's leveler to guide your mind through this.)
My most honorable appreciation goes to you for this writing.
This is riveting writing at its finest. |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 08/20/07 at 01:11 AM Kristina, this is powerful. I see it so clearly here, in this writing and in this thought-full scenario. The third and last verse, to me, were particularly descriptive, though each observation plays out into truth. |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 08/21/07 at 11:28 PM This is an extremely subtle and intricate poem, with much to ponder and perceive, as one would expect from the subtlety and quiet intensity of perspective and introspection in these circumstances. From this I feel such examination of the fragile edge between action and non-action, inherent in an entitiy, and the simultanaity of existence-- concerning awareness, and unawareness, the depth of personal history past and future inherent in even such an object as a stone, and in its particular movement as a result of the subtle differences genenerated by the mover, be it wind, toe, hand, or weather. The fall is carved out by the initiation. So rich in detail as all choices upon study (even without microscope or telescope--but even more so then). The "moss rule" (in physics?) is obscure in one sense...concerning physical qualities and measures, but also can clarify-- as a natural ground, buffer for stone. What a bold, exploratory venture into the deep canyon of possibility. |
| Posted by David Hill on 09/03/07 at 05:13 PM I read as a literalist, so I thought about the way I always kick or throw stones from high places, or the way I give inanimate objects lives. And of course, I had to read it again, having read your note, and the piece comes at a different angle. This is full of nice details and subtle suggestion grounded in physical reality.
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| Posted by George Hoerner on 11/24/07 at 04:47 PM Really well done! I had a friend that committed suicide as a freshman in Ann Arbor. But in a totally different manner. This is so subtle and makes one feel a solitary silence that so frequently accompanies suicide. Nature I believe has a much better understanding of such things. Again really well done! |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 03/01/09 at 03:34 PM This story of a stone's journey is marvelous. The reader can see the stone on it's adventure. I don't think I'll ever look at another stone without remembering this piece!using the stone as a methaphor for suicide was something few poets would have thought of. Incredible work as usual! |
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