Bottle Dump Find

for Heidi

We unearth old bottles, the unbroken one

our treasure – suddenly bees bubble up

bursting behind us as we fly out of the woods.

Elbows and knees pump,

ramparts of open air can’t hold back the picadors.

We said it must’ve been your flaxen hair,

flashing like a matador’s cape.

Dad scoops mud, smooth and cool

in his mason-rough hands.

He hums low, soothes your stinging welts,

raises an eyebrow at me.

The cool tap water

baptizes our bottle,

washes away the bottle dump dirt –

fills it with weight.

Red food coloring drops,

unfurl into the world of water,

their tiny, wispy banners

blend into a tide of bottled sea.

On the sill’s ledge, in the sunlight

it stands, blood-red brilliance.

from my bed I’m transfixed

by our ruby-baptized bottle dump find

and I wonder how those piercing rays

can cut right through glass

without causing any pain at all.

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