Poetic Journal Year 166 B.E.

166.1 The blue stone under the mountain ash <G>

The blue stone under the mountain ash

         for Gary

He was born a sapphire,
a glint of blue,
a rough stone merely waiting
for the diamond cutter.

I loved him too.

For I was a mountain tree,
struggling in poor rocky soil, clinging,
roots wrapped firm around him.

The chopped at me
when they came to pluck him from his home.
I was merely firewood.

My woody pith is charcoal now
waiting for the fire to grow
a momentary ember,
one last flash,
one glow.

Alas,
all that I desired:
to be carved into a jewelry box,
to hold his blue starfire,
what once was mountain ash
now ash and fire.

© 2009 Kåre Enga [166.1] 2009-03-20

Notes: "No one refuses a second hand gem" was the prompt that was later cut ... perhaps another poem?