Pausing in the garden I search for two perfect stones.
It’s not truly a garden but the space around our house.
I’m not seeking perfect stones so much as the right ones.
They’re scattered over the yard, assorted stones and rocks.
Few flowers as they refuse to grow – not the snapdragons
With fragrant cheeks or lantana with miniature bouquets.
The flowers boast perfume, organdy petals, ballet stems.
The stones repose modestly, too plain to pirouette.
Withered bouquets will be tossed but stones remain.
Others will bring flowers but it’s stones I require, hard and strong.
Which of them will speak of endurance, of devotion? Aha!
The sharp edged one of umber strata, a smooth one with quartz veins.
The grass crushes as I kneel and lift my hands to place them,
One on my father’s grave, the other on my mother’s.
I won’t reveal on whose marker I set the sharp one or the smooth.
Pausing in the garden I search for quiet sanctuary.
It’s not truly a garden but the space around the graves.
I’m not seeking perfect solace so much as refuge.
Just a thought 50
Image of stones courtesy Pixabay.com
Sharon Bonin-Pratt's Ink Flare 
Comments on: "Stones" (31)
… oh; this one sunk in, quietly – the won’t-grow, the promise-of-scent, the ‘house’, the ‘garden’; I thought this was just a simple musie, but it is far a far deeper simple than that
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Thank you for seeing beyond the surface.
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For me it spoke of the permanence of the stones, versus the ephemeral flowers. How lovely to choose something enduring, even everlasting, to place upon your parents’ graves.
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It took some studying before I understood the significance. When I plant flowers in my garden, I think of my parents. Thank you for reading so thoughtfully, Denzil.
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For us amateur geologists, this is powerful. Sones are so different. The imagery you’ve created in this poem is enticing.
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Thank you, Jacqui – and now I know one more thing about you – amateur geologist. I’m running out of paper for you.
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Beautiful. When it came time to place stones for my father-in-law, I brought four from a collection my mother had made. Wherever she traveled, she brought back a stone in memory of the place, and put it in a low ceramic flower dish. After she passed, I saved her collection.
On the day we were going to visit my father-in-law’s grave, I picked out four stones that spoke to me, and made them available to my sister-in-law and her husband (they’d traveled from the East coast and were going to use the stones the cemetery provided). Everyone picked their favorite from my collection, and I placed the one leftover.
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What a very lovely story, Jenna. I always bring stones for family who visit in their hearts.
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Shari, you just floor me with your beautiful words! I, too, am thinking of a garden area but your eloquence and words like devotion and endurance subtly describe your parents. I hope you found your refuge today.
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Thank you, Terri, and I did find it.
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gravesites are indeed for those of us still alive…
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As are memorial services. They allow us to connect with others who also loved the ones we are thinking about, and to hear stories we never knew.
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plus we get to see the folks who attend 🙂
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I agree – the community that surrounds those suffering grief is what often keeps people grounded. Judaism requires that we console the bereaved for this very reason. It is not OK to remain aloof and conduct a private ceremony, however heartfelt it may be, because it deprives the comfort of arms around the shoulders and attentive ears to listen.
BTW, totally different subject, I never got to see the art show in Long Beach that you wrote about so compellingly. My loss.
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no worries about show, Sharon – there’ll be others 🙂
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I used to go often when I was in college at Long Beach – a terrific small museum.
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there are several nice museumes in Long Beach 🙂
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Thanks for the reminder, Daal – I need to get away from this computer.
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🙂
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This means a lot to me today. My husband’s father died over the weekend. My husband and his siblings are all seeking refuge with mixed emotions.
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I’m so sorry to read this, Adrienne. No matter the relationship, death is startlingly final and grief is a very dark space. Please extend my consolation to your husband and his family.
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It sure is. thanks, Shari.
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There’s no better feeling than being close. I understand and appreciate your insight. Your poetry is needed, Shari.
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Thank you, Audrey. Until a few years ago, I never thought of myself as a poet, so I really treasure your comment.
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An eloquent, beautiful “thought” poem, Sharon.
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Thank you, Betty.
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I hope you found the refuge you were seeking, Shari.
My mum and I have this little game, where we’re showing each other stones we’ve found and compare what we see in them. Very often these are faces, sometimes animal shapes, and so they all reveal a story hidden inside them. As beautiful as flowers are, they cannot compete with that and so for me placing stones on graves is a beautiful tradition.
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Sarah, that’s such a very special activity you and your mom do. I like the distinctiveness of stones, and telling stories about what you find must be lots of fun.
I sent you an email a few days ago – no need to respond soon or at all if you don’t want, but wanted to make sure you got it.
Hope all is well at your end of the globe.
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Just send you a reply to your lovely email. 🙂
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And I just read it – so lovely to hear from you, Sarah. (I’m smiling.)
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☺
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