On the shores of St. Croix, jewels
were found not in locked, glossy
standees but in between bare

sand— shards

of antique china, broken
by gavels of time, sneaked
in nooks, crannies of the
island’s beach line, some

say they are

from the cruising Europeans
with broken wares falling, some
believe they were looted,
destroyed in a historical

uprising, maybe once an
urn, a tea cup, a “chaney”
mystery’s wrapped in its

absent sound

perhaps you will learn
the beauty of being lost
once you are found.

©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Beach Combing Magazine

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

27 thoughts on “chaney”

  1. Beautiful poetry….that is until the last 5-6-7 lines, where everything melts, is transcended…what. a. flourish. at the end…took me a minute, or two or three to be able to write the comment. Stunning.

    Liked by 1 person

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