Under Glass


Curled and mummified, pacific
mother of children,
come to rest in clay
whose hand, now withered
once rocked stony cradles,
tended ancient fires.

Under glass, Neolithic shards.
It is not recorded
what these vessels held,
what fires or what stones
these people sat beside;
it cannot be known
how long the night must have seemed,
whether one hungry day ran into the next
or if, staring up,
they saw the moon as only moon
or some terrible, vagrant god.

2 thoughts on “Under Glass

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