Fossil Beach

Take off your shoes, walk with me.

We'll squish our toes. Miles it goes,

the busy beach brimming with tiny crabs

until we reach — here, this outcrop:

from salty pools you can pluck

dead souls reborn as rock, washed by tides

just as they bathed so long ago

smacking their clammy lips,

wafting a seaside scent

not unlike spilled beer.

We humans still seek contentment.

Here it has lain millions of years.

This fossil, bivalve,

from time before meadowlarks,

before Neanderthal, before waltz

in the shape of a harp roughhewn,

plays a melody murky, out of tune.

Wizened she is.

Surface ribs roll. Feel the deep chuckle.

How dense in your fingers,

how nicely she fits against your palm.

From the sand she shakes your hand!

Greetings from the Paleozoic tavern,

surfin' oldies on the jukebox.

Some day, may you and I

jolly in our bones

return as stones.

First published in Plum Tree Tavern November 28, 2018

Author's note: I live about 10 miles from the Pacific Ocean. Recently I discovered a spot that you can only reach by walking a mile down the beach from the nearest road. There are fossilized shells in the water, exposed by the washing of the tides. Living creatures, reborn as rock. This thrills me. Simply thrills me.