Styx and Stones

STYX AND STONES

The old man gritted his store-bought teeth,
back pains stabbing like silettos,
as he skipped
a flat rock across a green river.

The rock jumped
eight times,
and then sank;
once for every decade
of the man's life.

Rippled rings
spread out from each other,
wider and thinner,
until they blended once more
with the water's surface
and then disappeared;
like all the grandiose, gentle,
and sad things
in his life;
a strong splash,
ripples,
and then quiet
deep green.

He sqatted on the riverbank,
and huntedfor a long time,
until his big-knuckled strong old hands
fit around another
perfectly flat stone.
He stood up quickly,
excitedly,
waiting for his vision to clear.

Nature's harmony
was in his flared nostrils
as he skipped the stone out
across the rushing water;
snapping it from his thick shoulder,
low to the ground.

It hummed as it left his hand,
rapidly hopping across the river
like a water bug,
skipping ten times,
and then bouncing hard
out on the bank
on the other side;
magnificent motion,
churning and splashing,
yet barely touching
as it jumped across the water;
clear and precise,
shining in the sun
for a moment,
and then miraculously regaining
the opposite shore.

The old man's heart grew light,
as did his step,
as he quietly approached
his next decade.


Glenn "Butch" Buttkus 1978