Least Common Denominator

Sometimes I read my old writing and cringe. Sometimes I read my old writing and it feels a little foreign, like, what an interesting word choice, Fer.

Here's an untitled poem I wrote in November 2002:

There’s something worth cultivating in this
post-season soil we sift through
for a sign,
a principle,
a basis for our labor.

Fingers scratching stone and seashells,
pottery shards, loamy chunks of clay,
we’re unearthing secrets,
sorting revelations.

What we’ve come for—
our least common denominator—
must be this seed,
nestled among
the neatly designated rows of what should be
and the furrows
of chance