fossil

fast forward a million years or seven ice
cream sticky fingers picking up the shell

of me nestled in the sputum on the beach
tilting me this way and that looking

for angles tracing ice cream fingers
through the ess that housed my spine

look mum tacky thumbs into sockets
ears to my hip bone listening for the music

that moved them holding my femur
to the light to check for opalescence

maybe my kind no longer exists raising
my value as relic maybe they’ll dislodge

the lump in my throat dismiss it as a pebble
freeing up my voice box maybe ice cream

explorer no concern for germs puts their tongue
to my funny bone to taste my humor and

maybe I’ll snap like pop rocks
in their mouth or sting like electricity

or worse maybe there would be no taste
at all beyond the seasoning of the sea

I can imagine being fused to a rock seeking
succour not wanting to spend eternity

alone then they’d have to brush until the ladder
of my ribs was clear in the gentlest of severings

and then I wonder if I’d miss my flesh despised
for large parts while still attached would I yearn

for the abundant softness better still
would the ice cream anthropologist draw

me the body I’ve been missing
maybe they’d find carvings

like on the inside of a cave etched
into my hip plate by an eager wife

depicting domestic bliss or help me
in uneven letters maybe they would put

me to their mouth play me like a conch
and call the spirits of all the waves

that ever crashed It’s possible I’d be in-
complete missing a legbone or a knuckle

which already washed-up thousands
of miles away from here shaped like home

 

 

Dillon Jaxx is a queer writer disabled through chronic illness. A winner of the Rebecca Swift Prize 2022 and working on their first collection.