The ad read, For Sale: casting stones, a pair.
They contain the magic of what remains
of the inadequate god their prophet
praised and stalked to prove he is everywhere.
I bought the stones and gave them names,
set them on a shelf and then forgot it
till my fortunes fell and the dwindling share
of a joy I’d known turned to shooting pains.
Relief was all I sought. Desperate,
I threw my stones in anger, didn’t care
so long as someone paid, until the strain
proved god is useless and mankind crooked.
I make my living now by casting stones.
Feeling inadequate? You’re not alone.
© Elaine Stirling, 2015