When this neighborhood is in ruins
And the pools reduced to concrete depressions
Missing their giant pestles
The patios will emerge under
The archaeologists’ brushes
Along with glistening pebbled glass from sliding window doors
That we kept open on summer mornings.
Rat droppings will ossify into fossilized beads
That people will pay great money for
And wear in stud earrings and fine necklaces
There will be ancient cherry forests from the seeds we spit on summer evenings
They kept chickens and grew organic figs in the urban center,
The professor will say.
And we don’t know what they called themselves
When they went home for dinner.
Maureen O’Leary is a poet and author living in Sacramento, and earning her MFA at Ashland University on Ohio.