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Secret Spring
Purple and pale turquoise glass
shines after the rain has poured,
hard in the wet end of winter.
A mason jar can reveal itself
complete with a frog inside
moss and an uncurling fern.
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 Life's Home |
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Sometimes we'd drive slow
lookin' to catch the glitter
of clean wet glass
washed free of the mud.
Poor folk's trash
down the back of a wash,
bottomland creeks
swampy no good places that flood,
or did back then but are drier now.
Blackberry tangles with trumpet vine,
twists through red truck cabs
rusted guts, ramparts for exploring green
but not quite covered yet
in the coldest part of early March.
Carrying a bucket, an odd collection
of prying tools, Mama put a boot
to barbed wire, made a mouth
of rusted teeth I crept in and out.
We hunted cork-top medicine bottles,
fruit jars, shell buttons, marbles.
Peered through broken glass shards,
reds, cobalt blue, at the light they held.
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Coleen Shin  |
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