He says he wants to see Solomon's tomb, the Ark of the Covenant, and treasures that turn dragons a shade of muted emerald. Furtively search for goldenized trinkets, interlinked with lore, centuries of holy and unholy magic, uncover amidst long lost dust what archeologists somehow missed. And truth be told, I am somewhat surprised by his necromantic notion, that maybe he could surpass centuries of scholars, scald time's thin skin with a bout of brilliance that would have historians drool in envy. But who am I, if anyone, to judge - me with my lowly ambitions to return to Concord and Author's Hill, just to rub the stone of Thoreau? We all have our preferences, I suppose - our own pursuit of the vapid what-was, what never again might be. Of fire. Of hydra. Of possibility. Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright April 6, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Poetry Month 2024