At A Loss On The A Train

I should never have worn something so precious

that precariously hung by a hook

for the athletic adventure of commuting on the A train.

The pendant my daughter gave me was silver

with stone fossils of tiny prehistoric seashells

and a secret peace sign on the back

I hooked it on a silver collar, put on my raincoat

and hit my stride down state street to the train

not checking till, at my desk, it was too late

I wanted to weep then, retracing steps, reporting it

sending Wayne to the station knowing once spotted

no one ignores or, if found, turns in something precious

I was heartbroken as if heather herself

was in the possession of some circumspect commuter

reveling in their find that day lucky at my loss

millions of years ago tiny shellfish swam the sea

cousins to the tiny shells on my bathroom shelf

from the same sea that laps at me in ocean grove

and on the train I see a pretty boy with a sassy ponytail

and an african queen with perfect braids and a book

and an old woman bent but holding on and I wonder

what molecules from forever now swim in our blood

and make up the fabric of our magical possessions

since nothing is actually new

how precious and thoughtful to consider the ancient beauty

of prehistoric matter recycled and reborn

into our very flesh and so much of it now just landfill

I want to imagine my precious pendant

millions of years from now buried beneath a brand new

civilization of reborn earth and seas free from us

thieves.