[audio:https://theotherjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/stones-1.mp3|titles=Stones]

She crashes into
My sunny morning,
Interrupting my steady walk.

A tormenting thing,
Female and young.

She looks like me,
Exactly like me
When I was thinner and stupid.

She’s after me now
Laughing soundlessly,
Throwing dirty stones,
An avenging vandal.

She hurls the
Memories
Hard against my back.

I thought she couldn’t
Find me here,
Miles away,
Years away.

The wounds from the stones ache.