Throwing Stones
by Alan Berecka


Did Goliath see
the stone spinning his way,
did he not duck out
of gigantic arrogance,
was, "what’s the worse…"
his last thought?

A bored kid I spiced
up my chore—clearing stones
from the garden—by chucking
the rocks over into a pasture.
Sure of my arm strength until

I let loose a heavy stone,
a little too low, just
as my mother stood
into its arc. I remember the thud,
the blood. She, holding ice to her head,

forgave me, but, even after a lifetime
of errors, I still know
it’s the thrown stone
that’s the hardest to let go.









Copyright 2023 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.