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