Worry Stone

Worry Stone

There’s no pilfering peace
but if she could, she would
 slip it inside her pocket
steal some smooth, cool, serene.
Onyx, agate, jasper – blues and greens
begging to be rubbed, buffed, fret  
chafed by frazzled fingers,
worried by the weight (inside, in-
visible) uncountable cuts, slights, slices
(in a week or a month they’ll be mean-
ing-less, but) today their scorch, sizzle,
sting keeps her awake, aware, aching
for some solace from the discord;
and heaven, she reckons, is harmony