A stone in the water
along the shore, has waited
350 million years to be seen.
The stone, a casket
for hundreds of fossilized polyps,
each blossoming with one tiny eye.
Once these one-eyed animals lived,
part of a great coral reef
in a shallow lake of sky-blue water.
The water receded,
the coral died —
buried beneath millennia of silt.
Until, once more, water rose
and washed free the stone
with its ancient corpses.
A patient man, bent with age, walked
the rocky beach beside blue water
keeping his eyes on what lay beneath his feet.
Pebbles and stones carpeted the shoreline
where he searched for fossils,
stones of extinct coral.
He sought Petoskey Stones,
sarcophagi that spoke to the old man
of a time before humans.
And this time, as the sun dipped low,
the man slipped fossil specimens
into his worn pockets.
At home, examining his finds, he chose
one heart-shaped Petoskey Stone,
and set to polishing.
Months passed as he coaxed the stone to life;
the ghosts of long-dead coral
shone in one-eyed splendor.
Then, he carried that glowing, coral heart,
gift to a small boy,
with a note that read,
That which was dead, lives.
—
Janice F. Booth is a writer and educator. Her long-running garden column appears monthly. She authored Crofton: Images of America. Jan’s poetry is included in three anthologies; Still Singing: Six Women Poets, The Song In the Room: Six Women Poets, The Antioch Poetry Retreat: a Gathering of Poets, The Road Beneath Our Feet and periodicals, including S/He Speaks, photospecchio, Pendemic Journal, Silk Road Blog, HungerX, and the ESWA Bay to Ocean Journal (2023 & 2024).
