Permanence and Loss


For Mica

Slabs of granite, a hundred of them,
on edge like books
with poetry for names
Giallo Ornamental
New Venetian Gold
Uba Tuba
Superana Persa.
They sleep like rocks,
but pick one, and it will wake up
as your kitchen counter,
pristine, ancient, igneous,
the earthís own birthstone
where your skillet burns are now,
where your knife cuts and
childrenís scribbles are now.
Recent history obliterated
by a ton of timeless rock.
Itís all the rage, this ageless granite,
this polished gem, this
immoveable lid on the tomb
where your mismatched
Tupperware lies buried.


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