Adapted from Charles Simic’s “Stone”

MiJin Cho

Hunched over to stop the feeling

That used to be my way.

Let my insides stand still like a solo sung stone

Yet quake at the sight of an American ambition.

In this life, I am happy with just a dream.

My mother heard of a stone evolving:

Lighting its inner walls for novel wonder.

The potential of a diamond,

The stone metamorphosizes.

Yet, another story whispers besieged bygones

Of a stone that revealed too much, felt too much.

It forgot that under pressure precious things can shatter.

It forgot that once cracked its pieces become fodder.

The stone lies low in shame

Desperate to take things back

Into its insides.

A pin-pricked egg.

I have seen mountains crumble,

Crunching their feet into tiny pebbles,

Hopeful for a new shiny shimmer.

From there, the pebbles roll into a stone

Waiting to be sung, waiting to reveal.

But the pressure throttles its voice.

The stone can hardly speak at the sound

Of crunching debris.