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Fossil By Alan Wright Email: alantiff0301 at sbcglobal dot net (above email address formatted to reduce spam) December 11, 2007 Like violet lupines among scrub trees, One measure of beauty imparts great worth To otherwise dormant time and place. Such wildness favors the seemingly miniscule Thus becoming the pearl of great price. Even the blue Karner And the common field mouse Have abiding perspective Set in flesh by need and survival. Such are the memories of upturned stones And a rock-hopped creek Behind grandma's house and along Court Street. Impressed upon my story like The fossil of the sole of my Ked's In that orange Mississippi clay, The creek bed can no longer see What I hear in the sunset of my Goldenrod thoughts. If every scent could be recalled And every sand in the web between My digits become a year in my life, The creek knows none the better. Like when Paw Paw who first pioneered The creek could no longer remember my name, The soggy clay floor has no recollection of the child Who surfaced the high banks Like some illegitimate offspring of John the Baptist. Crannies of the creek walls And the shadow's slow water hide the truth: She is unrecognizable in no fabled way. Of no use to fixed children Or double-dealing adults, the place of Dinosaur bones and lost diamonds Can hardly sustain the stonefly much less The interest of the glazed over young. Once I returned home and failed to recognize an old friend. It was hard to figure who had failed the other. About the author: I am a hospital chaplain at a massive healthcare complex in Dallas, TX. I am an ordained Baptist minister though many of my Baptist fellows would claim I'm not a very good one. I take it as a compliment. | | | |
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