Making a Midden
by Benjamin Morris
First the slice into the tousled sand,
the kick and twist to open the ground’s grin.
October looms overhead, stitches the earth
with leaves, whispers to us of our worth.
But this pit must be dug, this litter dispensed:
this crushed mug, this wine-stem rinsed
in grit, this ceramic cracked into an edge.
The shovel tamps the dirt, smooths it to a fresh
new sheet: this house collapsed, this street a ruin,
this city known only as a map of the forgotten,
let the nosy trowels come—and in this midden
find not what was sought but what was given,
blackened glass, a split pill bottle in which to carry
the distant death-rattle of the gods we buried.
A native of Mississippi, Benjamin Morris (he/him) is the author of one book of nonfiction and two prior books of poetry, most
recently Ecotone (Antenna/Press Street Press, 2017). His work has appeared in such places as The Oxford American, Lithub, and The Southern Review, and received fellowships from the Mississippi Arts Commission, Tulane University, and A Studio in the Woods. He lives in New Orleans, where he serves as one of the coordinators for the New Orleans Poetry Festival. Find him at his website http://benjaminalanmorris.com and Twitter @bentjulep.
