I don’t remember who told me it might
crack open, that nubby stone, if I hurled
it hard to smack against a boulder.
I was so young. Like magic, the knobby
clod split wide to disclose such sparkling,
a fist-sized cave of elegant crystals,
rose-pink jewels whose beauty I only
later learned was wrought through sore time
as moisture seeped in through a hairline fracture
and pressed the minerals in hidden space,
a long pinching fusion of creation,
a stack and squash of scars in soup
siphoned in through cracks of sickness,
the crushing chapters compacting what remains
of life into a brilliant disaster or marvel
concealed until that moment I shatter.
Warning: my lining may not glitter like gems.
Dianne Silvestri is a poet, physician, and stem cell transplant recipient. She has authored the chapbook Necessary Sentiments. Her poems have appeared in many highly regarded journals including The Healing Muse, The Pharos, Blood and Thunder, and Blast Furnace.