Paleo 101
A blip in geologic time
Oh little one,
little homo sapien
asleep in your crib
listen not to dreams
in your head
but to the planet’s past,
far below the firmament.
A felt and twine imitation
of me and my kind
swirls in the dizzy mobile
above your head.
Your paleo
ma and pa dug up
my dusty old bones
on a work site
far away so
pray tell
listen to the caw
and bray
that echoes
from the ghost
voices of my
oxygen rich world, for
in the blink of an
infant eye
you will be sixteen years old
and start to drive,
pumping the fossilized fuels,
the amber blood
of my brethren
into carbonic
engines to make
wheels turn and jive.
When your teachers
teach you about
geologic time,
know that your species’
time will come.
Unlike mine,
your little ice age
will be a device of
your own making.
When you learn
how dark and hot
the world becomes
know that your kind
could have left our
graves unturned
and wheels unburned,
the atmosphere
yet with ozone.
When you are grown
and become a teacher
with students of your own,
and they ask of you of the mysteries—
“What color were they?”
“Did they had have feathers or scales?”
Tell them that I
was deep violet,
had neither feathers
nor scales,
but notes.
About the Creator
Kate Kastelberg
-cottage-core meets adventure
-revels in nature, mystery and the fantastical
-avoids baleful gaze of various eldritch terrors
-your Village Witch before it was cool
-under command of cats and owls
-let’s take a Time Machine back to the 90s
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Comments (1)
Exceptional writting.