Two Rocks
B
Barry Middleton
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The creek in the wood
behind my childhood home
was rich with the entertainment
of questioning.
What were just two rocks
to some, to me seemed to hide
eternal mysteries.
Most rocks that I dragged home
had found a final resting place
upon that creek bed
where water washed them
each and every day
and kept them shining
like jewels is a rare display.
But now and then
the anthropologist of spring,
behind a plow, would dredge up
from the soil a clay caked shard
of ancient stone.
And that was cause enough
to pause a while and wonder
who had cast it there,
or had some great upheaval
of the strata rolled it to this spot
never till now to be touched
by curiosity or washed by rain.
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