Paleontology

When I was young

I wanted to be a paleontologist

I didn’t know that was the word for it

At the time

In Tennessee, 2002

I missed the North and didn’t know it

I learned of the T-Rex

And the Brontosaurs,

And of Darwinism

I longed to rediscover remnants

Of the forgotten past

It was understandable

The present was so grim

Though at that age I didn’t realize

The bones lay half-buried in the sand

Like gnarled hands reaching up

The parachutes were following about me

To a child of only seven years

It was of no significance

Eyes wide with the prospect of discovery

The brush trembled in my hand

I carved my way to the core of the earth

Painting my way to some kind of meaning

Self-analysis leads me to believe that this dream meant something

Time slips, the incline is steep, I

Filled with uncertainty

The parachutes that fall about me:

Sinister

The gnarled hands, the dinosaur bones

Reaching for something

The sandy dunes

And red-rock mesas

The lights in my eyes

Are distant, foggy

And we discuss what’s occurred

Over a bottle of wine

And forget.