At the Museum of Natural History the bones

of forebears Jurassic and Cretaceous stand

like neighbors at a picnic; T. Rex flashing

a toothy grin and waving his runty paw at

the Stegosaurs across the room who know

better than to encourage his cordiality.

It’s a relief to learn one’s place in the universe,

which despite the insistence of ego is not at

the center. We’re not first or last in this

turning loop of creation; Adam and Eve were

Tetrapods in the swamp of sacred spit and

we’re the in-between of them and what’s next.

One of these days when Earth heaves California

onto the steppes of Mongolia and our remains

are pushed to the surface, will our successors

dust us off and glue us together, give us names

their children recite with a shiver, and wonder

what became of us, or will they even care?

©Dana Hughes 3.12.18