You once told me,
quite defeated—
“I look at rocks.”
Human history started by a single grain.

Face flushed, I retreat
into myself—
turtle without its shell
A single grain seeps through weathered scales.

Near misses and stars mingle
ignore the signs; it would be too easy
to be happy
with a single grain.

Count rings of a tree,
lines on a face
tell a time we’re too afraid of—
wasting a single grain.

A spark, a continuous flame
flickers and wavers and hovers-
doesn’t extinguish an unfed hunger
for a single grain.

Business casual covers,
mortgages bind,
losing sight of a tiny,
single grain.

I will tell you someday,
quite proudly—
“I look at rocks.”
and marvel at every single grain.

Glenna Lynne Schubert