by Allison Shoemaker
This footprint is my bed.
A certain safety comes from knowing that
we can be crushed. We’ll all
be fossils, too. My mouth is dusty, dry
as cauliflower. Shall
I tell you of these massive beasts? My heart
holds their extinction close,
my fingers study every trace they left
of their enormous lives.
There are no men. There is no need for men.
I miss your weight, your sweat,
but bone and dust and mud all lack the sting
of blood. My skin and bones
press hard where they and physics left their mark.
Oh eyes, oh flesh: dry up.
