Mala

Once, I was told certain stones
sleep like stars buried in mineral veins
and clay. They give off specific energies 
compiled through the years—  Once, 

my wrists were wrapped with beads 
of turquoise; my neck, strung with jade.  
Citrine, sandalwood, tulsi, bone. Streaked 
tiger's eye, chipped sapphires that found 

their way onto plated chains. What cost to pin 
belief upon a collar, wear the nub of hope on 
a finger or dangling from our ears? Luck, love, 
lightness; a heart plucked free of pain or worry.

More than these, the patience with which 
to sit through long epochs of unknowing. 

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