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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Hidden under the honeysuckle and hibiscus Lies a stone. And as I sit, drinking a gin and tonic Looking over the spent plates where crusty bread fried calamari, which is a fancy word for squid, and two Oysters Rockefeller sat until recently consumed by two parents both in that awkward state of freedom and longing when their child is at camp, out past the ducks on granite rocks puffing themselves up flapping their wings towards afternoon sun on Winnipesaukee my thoughts and eyes are drawn back to the wheel of stone leaning against the rotting wall of railroad ties covered in a remoulade of Honeysuckle Rose of Sharon and other viney things that are unidentifiable to me. It has been painted during its time but the paint is faded and chipped and the feeling is that the stone has outlived the painter. Yet I do wonder. What was its job 50, 100, 200 years ago? Was it in a mill? Did it lie flat, grinding? Did it roll, upright, crushing things? What else did they use round stones for? Is this what retirement for a working stone is? Cast to the side, forgotten hidden under the honeysuckle and hibiscus in an alley next to a waterside Wolfboro restaurant where parents sit Looking at Winnipesaukee over spent plates of bread, squid and Oysters Rockefeller thinking of a child at camp.
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