wandering

life’s beach

we collect stones named hurt

we swallow these bitter lumps

or keep them in plastic shopping bags in the shed

like the seashells we never look at again

or hide them under a lake to

retrieve at our lowest  ebb

and throw them at each other

© rob walker 2005

A reflection on the notion of Hurt and our obsession with collecting.

This poem has only ever seen the light of day on a US poetry website called Plum Ruby Review. (Vol II Issue1 Summer 2005.)

http://www.plumrubyreview.com/summer05/poetry/walker.htm