She walked home, kicking up curtains of dust
feeling like bullies’ dough, pinched and prodded
and her clenched stomach quivered.
She picked up a stone and put it in a bag,
slung it over her shoulder.

She trudged home, snapping off tree branches
fists cut with shards of a broken promise
corroding her sense of security
She grasped a stone and put it in her bag,
slung it over her shoulder.

She staggered home, head hanging in failure
a cloud of molten dread hanging from the ends of her hair
failed tests, shattered opportunities, spliced expectations.
She clutched a stone and put it in her bag,
slung it over her shoulder.

She tottered home, one heel after another
tears spilling from the diminishing figure of a boy
branding bittersweet bas-reliefs in her soul.
She groped limply for a stone and put it in her bag,
slung it over her shoulder.

She crawled out of her house,
body squeaking on worn joints
preoccupied with endlessly stitching
together her bag of stones with gossamer floss
grown to a colossal sac.

So now,
as the sun chisels through marble clouds
drunk on the whispering tendrils of minty breeze
that burrow into the barren earth of her stagnant aura,
as she swims down sand to the lakeshore by her house
and stands in front of the liquid heavens
she takes a deep breath
inhaling the scent of her own skin
and lets her stones tumble into the depths of aquamarine.