What Dinosaurs Know From the soft gray nest of his bed, my son shines a flashlight into snowflakes whirling outside. Galaxies of glow-in-the dark stars gather above him. As he presses his face into velvet folds of a stuffed brontosaur, he waits for me to dim the hallway lights, to kiss him good-night. As he nods off to sleep, my son asks if dinosaurs saw the streaking comet, if they knew that they were dying. I imagine peering into shrouds of smoke and soot, an ancient beast craning towards the bleary stars. Darkness presses down on propped pillows, slopes of comforters. I reach to caress the gentle wave of my son’s brow, my leaning body suspended in the hallway light’s amber glow.
Sayuri Ayers explores everyday spiritual experiences in her poetry and prose. A Pushcart and Best of Net Nominee, her work is forthcoming in SWWIM Every Day and Parentheses Journal. Please visit her at sayuriayers.com.