1ST PRIZE

Impressions
by Kathryn Spratt

Ephemera like fishes, ferns, and childhood days should live to decay,
their dappled glory melting into indistinct detritus for tomorrows’ nourishment,
but this is not always the case.

Near the school parking lot, I find a student, age 18, crouched in river rock.
He reaches beneath a shrub then meets my gaze and cracks
a crooked smile, knowing I presume stashed contraband.
“Look,” he says, extending his hand.

Hair blazing in afterschool sun, we study his discovery—
half a dozen fossils in a single stone.
“Rocks like this are everywhere,” he says at last.
He moves to toss it down until some old amygdaloid specter stops him cold,
and he slips it gently, very gently, into his pocket.

Strata break: two heart halves fall apart,
exposing the crisp outline of a child toting treasure.
I wonder who first showed him fossils and if they were kind.
I hope they were kind.

It’s hard to remember if this is the boy whose father died,
whose father’s alive but can’t know that he’s gay,
or whose father left his mother so poor, she can’t afford to ink over his name.

Does it matter?

Casting organic life in stone takes trauma:
catastrophic sediment crushing fronds and fins mid flourish,
arresting total openness—absolute trust in gentle sun and gentle sea.
Silt conglomerates and hardens over the tender newly dead
until brittle shards host shadows
of leaves seeking light,
fins testing tide,

small arms extending to show and give and receive,
all frozen in their needing.