Skipping Boulders
At picnic tables, his cousins converse
Juice box strewn and dismembered food
Late November, Thanksgiving gathering
Below the campsite, a riverbank invites
Broken boulders and overgrown
My son waits for me, beside the water
Hanging beside his hip, he fiddles
A bone dry stone between his fingers
His planted stance, a bit unbalanced
The rock in his hand, he attempts to throw
Into the creek, liquid glass sheet
I withhold critique on his expertise
The stone in my hand is much bolder
It is coarser and less circular
But I know mine will skip farther
I have tossed these rocks before
They glide against the surface
Caress the water, then pierce below
My son teeters with uncertainty
He is unsure of my technique
Yet still, he watches intently
I forget what it was like to be
Unsteady to this boulder-sea
Beneath my knees, unbroken and free
Puzzle Box
Atop a glass top coffee table
An unopenable wooden box
An otherwise decorative piece
As opposed to those more practical
Varnished with care, lacquer like concrete
Layered colors, like peacock feathers
Its surface patterned with rhombuses
Multi-colored, mahogany cube
Its edges shimmer like chandeliers
Cut with exquisite geometry
Engraved with vivid iridescence
It awaits your frivolous struggle
Locked from the inside, from every side
Lusting for your primal exertion
Irresistible invitation
Knocking against the walls of your mind
Indulge in this puzzling distraction
Ravenously pleading for your time
Always begging for your sanity
You know you want to see what's inside
Evidently, your house guests have tried
Blood stained corners allude to failure
Wasted attempts only lead to more
Humans' insatiable persistence
Constantly clawing for an answer
Planted, ingrained—it's in our nature
But this box can't ever be broken
There's no solution—at least not here
Josh Drozdenko 