These are stones with no appreciable monetary value. A collection of minerals molten, compressed, cooled, fractured and tumbled over millennia. Plucked carefully and hauled from river bars and ocean shores—some by me and some by others—they archive geological journeys beyond my imagining.
When I’m no longer here to witness their poetry, will my lifetime curation be evident? Do I am imagine my survivors will discern the tumor, the organisms or the cross? Unlikely. The stones will be dumped in a garden or at the beach. Maybe they’ll be thrown in a river.
Long after my bones have turned to earth, the stones will continue to transform.
And I will, too.
selfArchive Blog 12/18 | Cancer | Awakening | Transformation | Words