Lauren McBride
Nestled among round pebbles -
sea-washed scraps of glass
surf-smoothed and frosted,
their former shine and purpose
lost and forgotten.
Green, white and brown
stashed in pockets around
colors more rare: turquoise,
pink, two cobalt, one purple;
still seeking red. Pieces plain
and unremarkable, but then,
half buried, a bottle bottom.
And just once, a sand-filled vial,
the stopper missing.
These my favorite finds -
fragments ridged or imprinted,
worn letters and numbers
a clue to their origin.
If pieced back together,
what stories could they tell?
Poet’s Notes: In "Gathering Glass", I share my love of collecting beach glass. I always end up with pockets full of plain pieces, mostly white, but far more interesting are the rare colors and those with some clue as to their origin. I often wonder how the fragments end up where I find them.
Editor’s Note: This one has a nice Imagist feel to it ala William Carlos Williams. I especially like the question at the end.
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