Pebble in my Shoe: a poem

To the pebble who found itself
on 5th Street and Madison Avenue,
the round tiny stone that pressed
against the arch of my left foot
between my sock and walking shoe:

Where did you come from,
in this sea of concrete,
this downtown corner near
the Catholic church and an
abandoned used car lot?

Are you a leftover addition to
the coating of ice on streets
from this winter, an unneeded
bother tossed to the side of the
road now that we’re entering spring?

You hitched a ride as two droplets
of rain sprinkled onto my glasses,
an attempt at precipitation from the
periwinkle grey-blue skies in the east,

the clouds competing with a sun
opening its face from behind a white cloud
in the west, this yellow body not finished
with the day yet, but feeling a little shy,
causing the air to drop ten degrees
due to its hiding as the wind
hurriedly pushed me towards home.

Little pebble, you did not bother
me much, just gently nudged me,
a small constant reminder that I
was not alone on this walk,
that I was carrying someone,
that you were grateful I allowed
hitchhikers on my daily stroll
as the droplets of rain on my glasses
soon evaporated with the wind’s breath

and just as I was turning
off Pasewalk Avenue towards home,
you jumped off, out of my shoe,
to find a new adventure of your own.

Tansy Julie Soaring Eagle Paschold

4–5–23