The smudge of an hour transposed where the walk to the car affords a view from the sidewalk, a gam of clouds, their vast undersides⎯There are plastic containers everywhere, all the supermarket⎯And gasoline propels us home to a meal, some TV, bath time, bed. The day has nearly unwound. How different are Sue’s bones from our own? Sun, rain, whatever wind … There was flesh, easy to imagine cool scales, un-petrified teeth, somewhere a tongue, wet eyes … And there would be meat
rotting in her stomach.
The exhibit was a blur. There was no silence. Charlie wanted to see this and quickly see that and No matter, “(Look sweetie,) these bones, they were in the earth, people found them, dug them out, brushed them off and put ‘Sue’ back together”⎯
A sentence dragged from skeleton to fossil room to eyesight simulation kiosk to digging experience box … She responded better to “That thing would turn you into poo!”
made a mask, finally talking about the dead reptile.
And I let her get scared round the T-Rex off the lobby, the one with generous hide, hole in its neck, red paint … She ran, played, until we had to make
It seems encapsulating on the walk out, watching her run ahead …
Below my car where I’m flattening the distance she’s racing up the back of a snake,
both of us subject suddenly to a sea of fat clouds.