Stored and Restored

by Oonah V. Joslin


They raise Pavlopetri
virtually stone by stone;
dishes and weaver’s weights
fragmented findings
sunk in time
reveal their story.

I watch the silts blown out;
trade in a jar
sealed for four thousand years.

Beneath Laconia’s waves
grand, stone-cut tombs,
four metres down
still overlook the town.

Children lie
within the home’s sea bed
held close
sleep forever tight
a little kist
goodnight.

Remote,
stereo-mapping robot and acoustic sonar seek
sights and echoes past;
ghosts of long-gone beaches where
men once hauled up boats.

Archaeology’s never been this way before.
We make history as we find it;
open up a future for the past;
a past for the future.

I watch as they raise Pavlopetri;
in wonder as they raise
all but the dead.


Copyright © 2014 by Oonah V. Joslin

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