to dig into the ground
of my past
it would not be silver or gold
If I had a spade
to scrape off dust and dirt
from cardboard boxes of memories
rust stripes would decorate it.
If I had a spade
for the archaeology of drawers
filled with cards, cords, and bags of stuff
my hand would be a much more resilient spade.
If I had a spade
to retrieve wordy jewels
shelved in the darkness of my mind
my pen would breathe new life into old plans.
“Archaeologists only look at what lies beneath their feet.
The sky and the heavens don’t exist for them”
~ Agatha Christie, Murder in Mesopotamia
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