It's the sunken surface of Tutankhamun's stool,
that still bears the young child's weight.
It's da Vinci's clear thumb print on his sketch.
It's the shape of ancient Roman shoes
that wear the walker's gait.
It's the signature on the grammar school wall,
where Newton etched his name.
It's the black remains of a child's woolly vest,
preserved in silt in the Thames
(stocking stitch, just as I knit today).
With or without a name and face,
it's the bare humanity
that freezes time.
They're here. And now.
Hints of life, after death.
© Celia Warren 2021
Used a close-up of my knitting as a textured layer on top of this afternoon's sunset to create this abstract, with thanks to Ingeborg for her faithful hosting each Thursday.
Suddenly found myself writing the accompanying poem. All the artefacts mentioned, I have seen with my own eyes, and found them deeply moving. Hope you enjoy it.