the stones were smooth

from years of carrying.

formed by judgement,

they were familiar.

nobody knew why we carried

them, it was familiar,

something handed down

generation to generation.

they filled our pockets

of certainty, folded

and tucked into corners

of whispered conversations.

they were there when

someone stumbled

or fell, choosing different

than others, providing

comfort, protection.

but one day, something

changed, the weight

of the stones grew too

much to bear.

one by one, with

arms in mid throw

the stones began falling

to the ground.

the sound of the stones,

dull on the ground, was

far greater than the

yells and curses before

we stood, silently, staring

at one another, with our

hands empty for the first

time in years, unsure

of what to do, how

to act without the

stones of confusion and

hatred weighing us down.

days passed, and in

the quiet, a sliver of

green, pushed carefully

between the stones, rising

toward the light until

a small white flower

opened slowly, rising

from the stones our hands

had finally let go.