She always finds things not just any old things but messages symbols kitsch of the highest order.

A talisman strewn in the leaves would be nice today.

A crushed AA battery, an empty foil pill pack, blue electrical tape folded over on itself…

Oh well. No turkey feathers! No Spanish flash card stamped with the word “trust” or shiny candy wrapper reading something evocative like “sweet ‘ums”.  Not even the usual coin of the curb: crushed beer caps the size of quarters.

An orchid flung off a porch holds a bruised brilliance. It’s exotic but in a bad way, like a scar that ruins a face.

Oak leaves bleached and desiccated, resembling bones, tucked here and there among the brown leaf litter grab my eye

but they are so delicate that to touch them
would be to destroy them.

Returning home with empty pocket’s a message, too
one I’ve learned to be okay with.

The dog and I venture forth again later
his undaunted enthusiasm all the lesson I need, but then

there it is, lying on the tamped and brown median grasses as yellow as a school bus, imprinted with blue letters.

“Charleston Chew”

It gets pinned onto the map of my imagination. I take it to mean: hold steady, keep going, there’s more to digest.