On Becoming Stone
By: Joy Ortiz
Young and green
Before the rivers rose
Around me.
Churning, sweeping
The current came
Sudden and strong.
My brothers tumbled,
Shallow roots torn,
And washed away.
I held fast
Straining to survive
Upright.
Birthed by rain
Thick mud
Heaved
Dragging me downward.
Desperate, I reached
Toward hidden sun,
Yet touched nothing.
Deeper and deeper
The earth rose,
A grave.
Where was I?
Buried and lost.
Couldn't breathe.
All was darkness.
Had I fallen?
Somewhere else
(Above? Below?)
A distant boom
Showered...
What?
Another layer.
Alone,
I died.
Alone I stayed.
No beetles came
Devouring.
No worms
Bored holes.
Even microbes
Abandoned me
In my perfect tomb
Of mud and ash.
Untouched I stood.
Waiting?
Is death only waiting?
Then water seeped,
Permeating mud,
Passing through
My every pore,
Bringing gifts:
Quartz, silica, agate.
Rich treasures
Like funeral offerings
Replaced my flesh
With crystalline beauty.
Ever so slowly
I transformed
Until every cell
Became
Stone.
Ages passed.
What is time?
The world heaved,
Broke its shell.
Then came rain
Slowly,
Slowly eroding.
Layers dissolved
And left me standing
Like a tree,
But changed.
Bands of color
Rippled through me.
Sparkling facets
Caught the light.
I stood strong,
Unbreakable,
A stone
With bark and
Rings of growth,
Immortal
In the light and air.
Then I knew:
Death
And salvation
Were the same.
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