The Worry Stone

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The Worry Stone
All hours of the day I carry worry like a stone
under my tongue. Everything I say is shaped
by its edges, cutting with concern.
Will I have enough? Will it happen on time?
Have I said, have I done, all the wrong things?
And what is it that I am doing with my life?
And where is it that I am going? Who can say.
I've yet to meet anyone with a satisfying answer.
Yesterday, I saw a white speckled fawn stumbling
in between her mother’s legs. It gladdened me.
As did the raccoon pup peering from the foliage
in the canal, eyes earnest and full of prayer.
Yesterday, I watched my lover undress. I thought
how lucky I am to live in a world with so many
dashing men, one of my great appreciations.
I thought, what else, what other purpose, than
to love and be loved, than to admire the beauty
of every appearing body: fawn, raccoon, man.
I won’t tell you I spit the stone out, but for
a short while I forgot about it, even if it kept
on announcing itself by every breath, even if
still I swirl it around my mouth, weighted
and comforting.
- Moudi Sbeity