I called it archeology
because the big word made my mouth feel good;
helped the two years between us shorten
and stand small, but strong next to the millennia.
Together we learned how the stones were cooked and bent and compressed:
Only wet rocks show their true colors.
In the backyard we took hammers to granite
smashing our way through a molten backstory.
These days I steal beach rocks by the pocketful.
And sometimes, when I know nobody's watching
I'll spit on them,
think wistfully of hammers,
and remember who they really are.
done for poetry potluck week14