Million–Year Elegies: Tyrannosaurus

I am six. I am looking at your teeth.
I am calculating the volume
of your excavator jaw.

They have stripped you, chipped the stone
from your naked frame, unsheathed you
from feathers or scales. Leaving this skull
with holes I could put my hand through.
Unshielded from the wind and the din
of this crane–necked crowded room.

I am thinking of being inside you.
Plucked from the ground with serrated tongs
and swallowed. I am not thinking of pain.
Pressure, yes. The loss of breath,
the darkness and heat of you.
I would die of fear. But your jaws
are round and strong and I am small
and I want to crawl inside.

I will be old and never realize
why I crave an armor made of razor bones.
Why I am hungry for men with teeth.
Only a tyrant, the fiercest of monsters,
could ever contain me.

(Editors’ Note: “Million–Elegies: Tyrannosaurus” is read by Erika Ensign in the Uncanny Magazine Podcast Episode 12B.)

Ada Hoffmann

Ada Hoffmann is an autistic graduate student who lives in southern Ontario trying to teach poetry to computers. Her human poetry has appeared in Strange Horizons, Goblin Fruit, Stone Telling, and elsewhere. It has been reprinted in the Imaginarium Year’s Best anthology series and nominated for the Rhysling award. You can find Ada online at ada-hoffmann.com, or on Twitter at @xasymptote.

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