Buried Treasure

by D Larissa Peters

Digging up old anger—following clues,
riddles: bitter feelings, hurt words
flung or whispered,
tender thoughts
said all over the face—gouging the heart, finding
shiny half-dollars of memories. Count them
with gold-rush glee. Remember the thorns-in-the-side,
pain-in-the-ass journey. Hold
fast to the Midas-fever. Never forget what you’ve found.
Do not torch that motherfucker, like a castaway
sending flares of an S.O.S.