Fossil Dreams

I dream of fossils
I dream of earth toned children born archeologists,
their rights of passage in a wilderness,
where they’ll dig,
brush the dust off handcuffs
rusted and tarnished
buried in layers of sediment
along with the times where
our blocks,
front yards, and neighborhoods,
were patrolled like settlements.
When rights of passage meant
makin it through the gun clappin,
while escaping police applause.
I dream of children bringing home baskets of fossils.
Donating some to museums of an unnatural history
while others are wiped clean;
linked together building chains
that clink and clang,
as they dangle like wind chimes
from liberated oak trees
for children to swing in.
Where the scent of magnolia
sweet and fresh
stirs in the wind
with cocoa buttered flesh,
and laughter.



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