I come here – as some would put it –
I tried to be an atheist
but I was just a runaway,
like a female Hazel Motes,
though slightly less intense.
I guess I should stop
questioning the laws.
When I was a child
I was terrified of the artificial cave
in the museum,
but now I say
how fortunate the proteus
(also known as the olm)
all pink and blind and taken care of.
“Don’t touch the exhibits,” the signs remind me,
but I want to comfort the fossils.
I want to kiss the mammoth’s tusk.
I want to make away
with the abyssal fishes in the jars.
I want to press my body to the glass
and cry for the strangled fox pups.
And that new prehistoric creature
hanging from the ceiling –
closest thing to a dragon.
You were not there when I was a child
and needed you.
You were undiscovered
and like a love that I had no idea existed
until it rose to sear me,
you lay sleeping in the ground.
Is it too late now?
and run to have their picture taken with you
I tiptoe like a thief to whisper –