The Dig

Two weeks span eons,
Or so it seems.
Twilight casts its shadow
And the spring songs of the robins and jays
Trickle over the layers of sediment
Collected on my bedroom floor. 

Patiently I dig,
Carefully excavating
The remnants of my other lives,
The monstrous and mythical beasts
I have been before. 

A shirt stained with beets.
A black, lace camisole.
Holey jeans, twice patched and worn again.
A wrinkled cocktail dress, a high heeled shoe,
And exactly two mismatched wool socks.

Then, underneath it all, a small assemblage of papers
That shed light on yet another story:
Two gas station receipts stuck together,
The ink melted, perhaps, by the sun beating down
On the dashboard, or the sweaty palm of a hand. 

The coffee-pocked corners of a hardcover novel
Dig gently into the matted fur of my old, stuffed rabbit
And I wrest him from the strata to properly survey
What I have uncovered in this heap. 

Clutching his ragged body against my own,
The smell of home slips into my nose.
When his head finally finds the familiar crook in my neck
I bask quietly in my discovery
Of an ancient Once-Upon-A-Time,
Contented and triumphant for a moment
Until the phone rings.

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~ by ettaqueen on March 20, 2012.

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