Dinosaur Bone

You brought it home, yellow with age
and old ligament, and propped it up

in the entryway of our home, next to
the umbrellas. This led to the making

of soup and a long discussion
about death. I asked, Can we just pretend for a moment

that all we have to do to survive is
follow a straight line?

And you agreed. The moon spends too much time
breathing, spying on our children

as they sleep, on the stovetop burner
that’s been left on once or twice

throughout the night, the fumes
finding their way into the living room

and up the stairs toward our beds, spends
too little time staring at that bone. Maybe the moon

has a better understanding of death:
once it dies, it is placed in the ground,

or isn’t. Either way, it is never spoken of
again, never spied on. But still, we keep it

next to the umbrellas, sometimes throw
a jacket over its length. And sometimes we ponder

where it came from, what animal, and
how fast it had to run from predators,

or how often.


About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit www.mckenzielynntozan.com. View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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