I have wanted to open the earth, to split the crumbled dirt with sinking spade. Dig slowly down, carving towers in the depths, exact in their geometry. To expose the long dead, gently remove
their clotted coats, work my fingers between the ribs and sternum, my flesh the first flesh to warm the centuries-cold bone. Amass armories of Clovis flints and Acheulean quartz, hand axes and spear tips arrayed in snug drawers of foam. I have wanted to scrape the clayed plaque from stone teeth and greet that hominid smile. To spend nights awash in lamplight, puzzling jagged chips into sloped skulls, the brow ridge raised in wonder at being whole again, sagittal crest arced high over glued sutures, sparkling like obsidian. I have wanted to sit, conversing silently with that stone-wise face, warm with Darwinian brotherhood. Comments are closed.
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