By Lois Rosen
The stone resembles a valentine
but smooth, calcified and white.
It will never become a human heart,
require surgery, digitalis or aspirin,
emergency resuscitation. It may consider
life lucky no matter how much
ocean and rivers batter and bash.
It will not await biopsy reports, scans,
blood test results by telephone or mail,
won’t be shown color photos, be told
or left to deduce that suspicious lines
may disappear, be nothing, prove fatal.
No bucket-list wish to grant returns
a stone to shore. It will not moan or sob
or gasp or hack or shriek. A hand pockets
it to take home as a cheerful souvenir.
One splash of incoming tide, that’s that.
Its indentation disappears from sand.