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Allison Burris

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     Mudlark‍ ‍

“Like jewelry from a grave”
-Elizabeth Bishop

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On the banks of the Thames the treasure‍
hunters claim what’s precious, glinting‍
in the muck. Centuries old relics. Clay ‍
pipes and bottles. The slough of history ‍
churned by the river. Dropped. Drowned. ‍
Hurled. Carried. When you bite gold it leaves‍
a mark. Your spit makes a stone shine‍
even when it’s absent from the setting.‍
I want to be thus remembered, buried ‍
with my lost earrings and all my pearl rings.‍
I want archaeologists to speculate about ‍
my status as queen through my collections‍
of 3D printed tributes, my hoard of agates,‍
a metal rose. I’ve always carried the past‍
on my person a dark inkwell, a bone ‍
button, a chipped shard, a dusting‍
of bobby pins. I’m composed entirely‍
of left behinds, stories that have become‍
anonymous.

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Allison Burris grew up in the misty Pacific Northwest and writes whimsical and subversive poems from Oakland, CA. She holds a Masters in Library science, and you can often find her at the library, drawing, or baking. Recent publications include The Orange & Bee, New World Writing, and RockPaperPoem. Connect with her: https://linktr.ee/allisonburris

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