Am I a Stone?

Am I a stone?
by Regina Holliday

Am I a patient?
Do I sit within the chamber?
Knees knocking, thoughts blocking
That something could be wrong.
The paper gown does contain me.
Does not embrace me.

Am I the wife?
Just a visitor in 6218,
Only a number, easy to quantify.
While the nurse imprisons my husband's pain
as so much data on a chart.
While his breathing,
keeps pace with my weeping.

Or am I a stone?

Am I the stone that skips upon the water?
Do I dance above the surface
only playing at this service
to something greater than myself?
Then falling to the darkest depth
Leaving not a ripple.

Perhaps I am a stone upon the land
whose granite face wears the dust of years.
A silent sentinel upon a field of mourning.
The letters incised upon me
testifying to a life cut short
the only ripple left- a grassy mound.

No, If I'm to be a stone,
Make me the rock of Aesop.
Stacked high with all my brethren
so the thirsting crow can drink.
Just one among the bricks within the crucible,
stacked upon each other like cinderblocks.