A peach pit long in the sun
abandoned even by the ants,
its sharp edges dulled with fondling --
all the flesh of grief and anger
eaten away: only the hard
core of vindictiveness left --
when the day of your death comes
is that stone really what you want
to be found, clutched in your hand?
They taught you it was magic,
and so it is, but not the way you think.
It will not
protect you from your enemies:
it will eat your soul at dusk
and deliver your children
(do you think they are not listening?)
to the same fate.