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.

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