Realized how little I can deal with the rock in my shoe — how much I pout, I complain, I stop, I enlist, I grouse when that pebble gets lodged where I didn't want it to be — I wriggle, I jump, I halt my forward progress until it's gone. Quick to react to the hurt, the intrusion, the unwanted burr, I force the matter to a head and rearrange all the forces, responding to the unpleasant feeling with injured alacrity, only knowing it doesn't feel good, now. How else could I respond to that rock, harbinger, truth?
Author’s Note: This poem was born from a genuine realization on August 27, 2015, during a hike with my late husband and my still-extant daughter in the beautiful Pacific Northwest in a spot not unlike the photograph above. I still wonder, how one might most gracefully manage the unfortunate appearance of a rock in one’s shoe? Curious for your thoughts…
Hey also, fine readers: I’d love to know which art forms you’ve most enjoyed in this publication. Please take a second to respond to my poll here! 🙏
What came to mind with this poem for me is how often and for how long I have tolerated emotional "rocks in my shoe," when an actual rock in my shoe gets my immediate and efficient self-care. Dealing with either starts with noticing that the damn thing hurts and clarifying what I need from the solution.
Just how do those pesky little stones find their way into our boots, anyway? I doubt I could toss a pebble into the little space available (around my ankle) if I deliberately tried. Probably kicked up by the other foot, like left and right feet playing games with each other...
(BTW I like the poems and your sketches best of all. - Saying that here cuz I didn't want to create another account on your survey site.)