The Burden of Fossils IV
Gay Brewer
Before they finished dinner, without
coffee, everyone went out to look at the bowl.
It was after nine o'clock.
One archeologist was still sweeping, chipping,
sweeping, chipping. They leaned over for a peek.
The red clay bowl sat tilted, half uncovered,
like a dusty casserole dish held in rock.
The woman working smiled up out of the hole.
She wiped her forehead with a dirty arm.
The bowl was at least three thousand years
old, and the woman attractive,
rumored as junior faculty from the Universidad
de Almera. This was a sure tenure-maker.
She smiled again, self-conscious about
appearance. The bowl tilted nearby, destined
for a museum, a glass shelf, an explanation card.
Everyone shared the fragile moment. One errant
hammer tap could ruin it all.
Coffee gurgled. They went in for tarts and flan.
There was much general discussion
and excitement. Here was something different -
going outside, the woman speaking to them,
of course the bowl itself, and no one even thought
to suggest the earth be left to the earth, that
the extraction of a bowl contained its tiny tragedy,
or that the future could best be revealed
anywhere but in a violated past.
