taphonomy
by henry mills

Tasked to excavate the site,
I exhume this 15 lb ball of earth.
As I brush, dirt could fall
to dirt or to that skull
held only in my dreams. Hole
where the occipital lobe should be.
Hole I walk through.

*

Ask the fossil,
should I wait for you to speak
or invent you as I invent
constellations in the rainy season?
But fossils never speak,
and at times it’s too late
to identify a body.
Remains, stumbled upon,
paved over, for whom
an old man
still lights a candle.

*

DNA swabs and shovels.
Hollow depressions in the earth.
If dirt gives way to dirt,
know: the pain of palming a candle,
and crushed bloodstone,
is the recipe for rain.

Henry Mills was born in Washington D.C. to a Salvadoran mother and a Jewish-American father. Various music and poetry festivals have featured his multi-disciplinary work, including Different Kind of Dude Fest, Positive Youth Fest, and Split this Rock. His work has appeared in  The Wandering Song: Central American Writing in the United States, Origins Journal, and Epiphany Magazine. He holds an MFA in poetry from New York University.