Handful by handful, we played in the loam
dusting off the dirt
we were constantly moving our fingers.
Sweat pouring off of us, we sifted.
We were hunting for artifacts
for meaning in rocks and bone.
By clumpfuls we cleaned off bone,
we caressed the loam.
Flicked away soil on the artifacts
everything was covered with dirt.
And still we sifted with pianist-like fingers.
We played with our fingers
we caressed the loam
flicked away soil on the artifacts
everything was covered in dirt.
And still we sifted
with pianist like fingers.
Shards of color and disguised artifacts
held greedily by our fingers.
Blowing dirt
from the bone
we touch the loam,
each handful we sifted.
Buckets we sifted
we held onto the artifacts
shadowed by the loam.
Tapping fingers
as we waited, touching bone.
We barely notice the dirt.
We are bathed in dirt
proudly sifting
to somehow recognize our bones.
Ageless artifacts
dipping fingers
into the loam.
Artifacts and bone are leftover memories.
—
Kim Malinowski is the author of Home, Phantom Reflection, Buffy’s House of Mirrors, Clutching Narcissus, and Death: A Love Story. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and the Rhysling Award. She is training to be an archeologist. She writes because the alternative is unthinkable.
