Maryann Corbett

In the Hall of Minerals

Exposed, in polished-agate cuts—
sawn open like a patient’s chest—
the geodes spill their lovely guts

under hot lights on airless shelves.
They bare all. This elucidates
the natural history of ourselves:

The granite faces. The resolve
that cracks. The glittering release
to someone’s diamond-bladed touch.

The not knowing till then how much
openness
we might survive.

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