Lelo Mary Thebe

I Am a Stone

Rough stone,
harsh on the skin.

The stone has cracks,
blackened forms.
I pray it will not crack.

I am cracking, falling apart
inside; my heart as heavy
as a stone, the stone I hold dear
to my heart. 

The weight of the stone
as it sits in my hand,
its harshness as it scrubs
the dead skin on my foot.

I can hear my mother commanding:
Scrub your feet! Scrub your feet!
To her that was pure pedicure.
Her voice remains in my head.
May she rest in peace.
This piece I will keep. 

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