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D. H. Bleything

Stones   for JRKB

The months fit like stones in the wall by the garden.

This bright one, your voice

through the delivery room door and next to it

your birth mother fitting our lives together.

 

That blue-gray stone, our old house and your small room in back

with pear blossoms trained around the window.

You've always wanted that back but lacked

a window in the sun where fruit would grow.

 

This red one, your first teacher

and her careful Montessori ways.

The smells of Sri Lankan cooking,

her gentle mother visiting from home.

 

And these, with the sharp edges, the months your shin ached

and bruised, three times until we found the tumor.

And the next one your leg, stretched open

and boned on the operating table.

 

There is your grandfather, who helped care for you

all that time.  And the grandmother that makes

your favorite applesauce, and the other one, ready

to take you to museums.

 

And this stone that the light catches

is your music.  The piano, and you transposing

before you could read.  And the flute,

your new one, bright in the sun.

 

We are building our lives month by month

and each fits to the next, stones that make your life.

You are the one that fits in to make ours strong

and ready for what comes next.

 

 

 

 

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