El­egy as palaeon­tol­ogy

Prairie Fire - - TANIS MACDONALD - TANIS MAC­DON­ALD

Your spine curved in a bony fan of spikes and nubs push­ing out the thin cot­ton you sewed into a night­gown twenty years ago. Bent in a C, creak­ing, my stegosaurus lean

mother, I miss you

past ex­tinc­tion. Far north of the Chicx­u­lub crater, my brain cools into the size and shape of a crooked stick. As­ter­oid and irid­ium yield theme parks: the over­rated an­thro­pocene.

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