The stone was me
I wanted to become something else.
Procure a bow and arrow for myself perhaps, or carve something with a knife.
Did not want to go on living if it meant more sponge cake. Did not want
to have the shirt with blue stripes. Went out into the garden and kicked
at things. Hoped that I would cut myself and that blood would
be the result. Grabbed and tortured a leaf. Wondered if everything could
turn black. Wondered if sausage and potato could have children, and if
they would be equally burnt. Held the sun’s hand till it died.
Wanted to dig a hole and lay a stone. And the stone was me.
And there it was to grow.
And the stone was me, and it grew into a man.
To see the original and other poems by Tidholm, go to here.
To hear the poet read this poem, go to here.