Hear the coast crash monotonous
like foam fluttering behind the storm.
It is night now and the red glow of signage
beckons us along streets slick with rainwater
and whatever gets carried along an ocean’s surface.
Hear that coast crash mesmerized or mesmerizing.
With a gut of fried fish we hold ourselves up
and stumble along with minimal beams,
flashlights working while the rain works still,
glasses fogging up before fully coated in water.
What greets us beyond the black dunes this evening?
Orange and yellow crabs, thousands of them.
The shells unmoving, the sand and water within unmoving.
I can almost see their faces. I can almost watch their pincers.
I can almost scuttle alongside them back out to sea,
the neon faded out as the watery depths become.
Touch Real Dinosaur Bones
Dinosaur National Monument
Hours later we’re staring at long, winding roads
Back in the glass cage,
bones of strange beings
Turning up the volume
and speaking volumes.
I imagine the gasses of suffocation
and being in this wondrous space
covered in worlds only imaginable.
The Park Service created a taxonomy of experiences
their icons undeniably hip, keeping me from thoughts
of murder and contagion, of disruption and that ceasing echo:
& Plants & Animals
and the recognition of a single leaf
& River Canyons
and the embodiment of oxbows and whitespace
& Ancient Cultures
and representation of thinness and jewelry
and the streaks that are simply that: streaks
and fullness of teeth, predatory, spooking
and the simplicity before the struggle, with windows
Touching the dino bones, I drone on and on about
distraction and denying my experience: the norm.
But there is something about history.
Moments within spaces condoning and allowing.
Containers for containing this.
Structures for instructing
To think this is how I feel, thinking back,
along a bumpy road to Echo Canyon,
along a way that can lead
to the next extension.
what do the bones think?
What do the collections
The poems above were written in Winter 2021 and revised in Spring 2021.