Stone against stone – a poem by Alexandria Marianne Leon

Stone against stone

stone against stone—
a low rasp.
she circles the room
grain turning to dust.
I flinch at it.
I turn to the stove,
the pot catches wrong,
salt sharp in the air.
across the room
her sister sitting low—
feet folded beneath,
palms resting
on the packed floor.
My mouth opens
then I swallow.
The room
still moving—
Her breath shallow,
shoulders tight.
uneven.
she moves past us—
arms heavy.
She will not set it down.
sisters close enough to touch.
eyes still don’t meet.
I start to move.
my feet stay planted.
the sister’s gaze,
lifted—
fixed past us.
my hand forgets the sock.
How does she not hear
her sister’s footsteps—
circling.
the stone goes quiet—
my hand slows
she remains
low on packed floor—
I hear her steps,
quickening.
I want to take her arm—
turn her.
her hands
still full.
my hands
folding and folding.
I smell the
salt in the air—
waiting for feet at the door.
everything else thins.
Mary does not.

Alexandria Marianne Leon is a poet and mother living in Oregon. Her work explores faith, embodiment, and domestic life through lyric attention to ordinary rituals and inherited silences. Her work has been published in Radix, Foreshadow magazine, and elsewhere.