Roger White | + Follow Poet |
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Rock and Water

Interview With a Rock   
I was conceived in the warm haven of a mother’s womb.  Developing, growing, morphing through the epochs of time.  Then, on no day in particular, I emerged into the sunlight.                                                 
Mother never asked how I was or where I was. Unnoticed, unwanted.  Kicked, trampled, tossed. I lay still in the dust for countless millennia.  But unlike flesh, time smoothed my countenance and gave me ethos.
Then, on no day in particular, slender fingers gently lay hold of me. They lifted me off the very site from which I had witnessed the passing of time, the evolution of my environment, the tempest of human history.
I was taken to unfamiliar surroundings.  I had known only decaying branches that served as habitat to life’s smaller creatures.  I had witnessed only thirsty grass and weed struggling to survive in the parched soil.  I had come to rely on the sun to repeat its rise and fall and signify the passing of time. 
Now, I am neighbor to polished mahogany, flowers in vases, plants in pots.  The sun seems to come and go as marked by the arrival and departure of the natives residing in this new locale.  
I have been given venue.  My visage sparkles in the light.  I am noticed and admired, appreciated as the art of nature.  A new epoch has begun.
I do not know what my future might hold.  Will I become an heirloom?  Will the next occupants not admire the beauty others found in me only to toss me out into the dust I had known for so long?  Will I be placed in a box in a dark, musty room awaiting an uncertain existence?  Regardless of my fate, what will change? I am a rock. 
   
Water Makes a Commentary 
I gave life before you existed. I sculpted the land before you lived on it.
My rivers are the arteries in which the blood of life flows through Mother Earth. 
I shelter as ice on the mountains and become the hot tea in your cup. From the skies, 
I satiate withered tongue and desiccated Earth after droughts of mischievous 
neglect. I am an infant’s response to life, a girl’s tears of happiness, a loved one’s look 
of grief. I washed the feet of Roman tyrants and baptized the son of God. I drowned 
your thirst when you thirsted. I drowned your children when you were not paying 
attention. I saved your homes from fire, only to wash them away in flood. I have 
raged in storms and swallowed mighty ship and crew, then turned still as a lily pond 
for sportsmen and children to enjoy. 
You call me languid, vexed, mercurial, indignant, and I understand your ambivalence. 
Still, do not take for granted the gifts I give you. For as you have witnessed my 
rage and know, either by me or without me, you will perish.

Copyright © Roger White | Year Posted 2024

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