Loose Parts
A child will make something surprising out of what is found, loose. A twig and a plastic lid Scotch-taped to cardboard becomes a phone. Long after my city was laid out, geologists discovered the split between its wards occurred millions of years before. Sandstone underlies half, once a sea floor. Piedmont rock and soil beneath the other. While pulling weeds, I found a ring — glass diamonds set in brass. I put it together in a cup on my nightstand with a St. Anthony medal, fossil stingray teeth, and a wooden bead.
Jason Gebhardt’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in the The Southern Review, Poet Lore, Iron Horse Literary Review, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and Tar River Poetry, among others. His chapbook Good Housekeeping won the 2016 Cathy Smith Bowers Prize. He is the recipient of multiple Artist Fellowships awarded by the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities. He lives in Washington, DC.