They received a
much needed shower
this morning:
bare branches of trees,
Fall’s fallen crushed leaves,
Spring’s new buds and blossoms,
except for one —
a lone standing calla lily.
Its one continual petal,
a dry white heart,
blemished slightly by decay,
stamen still intact.

At its base
barely visible,
I spy a nickel
embedded in mud.
My fingers pry out
the cold, wet mess.
I rub my thumb
back and forth,
forwards and backwards,
until it appears almost shiny new.

Brush brown residue into my jeans,
the caked dirt blends until unseen,
completely.

75 percent of it now exposed
copper beckons,
“Awaken from your tomb.
Allow commencement of your
revivification, too.”

# # #

Ivy Almond writes primarily poetry and short stories. She is also an aspiring children’s picture book author.

Photo: Micheile Henderson