Holding the Bloodstone: Thirty Days of Attention

A National Poetry Month Practice

This piece grew from a simple practice: carrying a small bloodstone and writing two lines a day for thirty days.

I turn the bloodstone once in my palm
as if beginning a conversation

palms press against coolness
warmth gathers in the stone

flecks of iron peek through
red drops on a field of green

ancient silica and iron
my breathing slows

the stone in my pocket
a quiet weight

the bloodstone rests in my palm
long before and long after me

by the end of the week
the stone knows my hand

do I hold you to take your shape
are the blood flecks yours or mine

between thumb and forefinger, you resist
something in me gives

end to end I feel your height
however I measure you

your polished surface catches light
reflecting more than I like

from a distance you do not impose
I begin to ask more of you

you’ve known many places and purposes
are you settled here … am I

you’ve gathered the appearance of moss
I dare sense your stillness

where does memory rest in your form
I follow the lines that hold it

tilted trapezoid, I think
polished in someone else’s hands

obsessed with red flecks
do they mark your making or shape it

gentle curve, undeniable thumb fit
shaped by hands before me

did the rubbing erase or imprint a history
yours … mine … more

pushed, polished, and pressed
something held its shape

you have outlasted what I know
I hold you anyway

once held by wire as a talisman
now free in open light

tossed across the tabletop, wobbly then steady
you arrive whole

sitting in the shadow of raw heliotrope
your origin shows

rough-cut from another time
still, you fit in my hand

you fit in my hand softly
settling where you land

you fit wherever I place you
wherever I find you

I like how you feel in my pocket
the weight of attention

I reach for you with no intent
not needing to know

all month I thought I carried the stone
today I notice it has been carrying me

~ jlynn

Author’s note:

This piece grew from a thirty-day practice: carrying a small bloodstone and writing a two-line poem each day.

A brief moment of attention. Sometimes an image, sometimes a question, sometimes a shift.

How do you attend?