Pocketful of Rocks

 This raven upon the tree that used to look like a grandmother in an old style of dress but has weathered into an artistic rendition of a pitchfork 

Will hover in the air when dog approaches

And dog looks up and they appear to be yelling at each other

Raven dips down and up and down further but always out of reach

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Then this runner feels the packed sand or molasses sand or silky sinking sand up Achilles to gastrocnemius 

Hamstring to glutes to core

Breathe with beating waves retreating, heart meeting fish and salt’s smell and taste of nostalgia 

One mile ago is never happening again 

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Phone rings most times regarding my role as physician and reminds 

Me not to think I have my own life 

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This stone calls also

So I stoop to gather it 

Pocket full of rocks 

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Dog twirls in air arriving fresh having fully known this was going to be the best day of his life so far

No last time or next time compares

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I can run from this factually literally sensationally until the parts that ache forget their sorrow and the parts that sit idle remember their purpose and

While a powerful man who brags about pussy grabbing- as my transgender child with addiction and mental health problems serves thirteen years for a crime committed at age eighteen while high -is acquitted despite trying to kill our so-called democracy

This anger upon me dissolves into just being a mother and a doctor and my dog’s companion

Taking stones to my garden

Never quite able to get all the sand out of my running shoes or my dog’s tight curls