The Dig by Marge Simon

The Dig

Time flirts
like a virgin,
her innocence

There, on that rolling estate,
beneath the mounds lies
a Viking ship, whale long,
its partly exposed outer hull,
cradling the frame within.

Comes a man to excavate.
He brushes off the soil,
carefully removes a coin,
holds it skyward, its surface
shines a polished glow.

Within a hidden chamber,
the corpse of a girl, her bones
alone with all that gold.
He disturbs her rest,
his eyes on the treasure:
an exposed anklet,
an auric buckle on a belt
of gems in cloisonné.

See how she sleeps,
in her blue striped dress
with her young girl plan.
She hid in the chamber
bold and foolish,
on a dare that went wrong
when the site caved in;
a decade she’s been missing.

He pushes her remains aside,
his bosses won’t miss a few
bright gems; most of the lot
will be donated to the Crown.

Her corpse he leaves
for someone else to find.
But as he’s heading home,
he sees a vision in the road
a familiar blue striped dress—

too late, he swerves,
then in an otherworldly glow
plunges down to meet
the rocks below.

Marge Simon is an award-winning poet/writer, living in Ocala, Florida. Her works have appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Dark Moon Digest, New Myths, Silver Blade, Polu Texni, Crannóg, JoCCA and numerous pro anthologies. She is a multiple Stoker winner and Grand Master Poet of the SF & F Poetry Association. She recently received the HWA Lifetime Service Award, HWA. See her Amazon Author page.

Image credit: The archeological site of the Viking ship, Gjellestad (Science Norway) is further processed (with a cartoon filter in Toolwiz Photos) by the editor and superimposed with a woman’s ghost (pngimg)