Millstone

Does everyone have a thorn?
sharp, unrelenting, deathless
a backpack stuffed full of faults
some gravity for the soul

a caustic river in your veins
arthritis in your arm bones as they reach out
to clench the tiny remnants of self-worth
you spent your youth searching for

recycled, reused, repiercing
as if you swallowed vinegar and razors
on any unforgiven day it would taste like
serrated sugar, polluted with guilt

it doesn't matter how many times
you burn your whited-out journals
and touch the precious ashes
it's a phoenix in man's clothing

does everyone have a stumbling stone?
as you walk down the Via Dolorosa
year after breakable year, the fruitless waiting
for it to go away