A Poor Man's Archaeology

I recall excavating ash-dark earth -and then that silly sudden happy mirth, smooth brown 'stoneware' uncovered, still interred. Excitement, ever so slightly deferred. Knee-deep; in Dog-Wood, diggings like a mole hillocks-all-over the show—black as coal and in my hands a piece of history, forcing it out ever so gingerly, And a question mark hovers -is it entire? Will it rest on my shelves as a survivor? in my kitchen with two dozen others Edwardian, Victorian brothers. Dumps can yield much paraphernalia and-digging-it-up-finds you no royal regalia. But bottle-diggers find hand-blown treasure even-small-ointment-ones without measure. -are intrinsically a special tell-tale as they've survived something more than airmail. Or the dumping in an old chamber pot they just sentimentally mean a lot.