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I am seven, transfixed
By the picture book scene
Of dinosaurs grazing
In a Mesozoic mist

Their round backs
Lined with the teeth
We loosed and left overnight
In the hope of silver

The trees of vivid green
Burlap trunks rising
To a canopy sprawled
Neat as nana’s knitting

There’s an ad break
And I am asking
Was she scared
Waking next to him

Poppa, in the grey room
Room of pipes, dusty shoes
Poppa, in the room
Where he died?

The laminate table
Smooth and cool
My school pencils
In a ragged pile

Yes, very scared
She is saying
Holding the corners of
My greaseproof paper

I am seven, transfixed
By the picture book mist
Traveling wet and slow
Between trees

The fauna and forest
My trusty sharp 2B
Is faithful easy
To their edges, but

Oh, the patience of nana
Tearing new sheets
Of grease proof paper
Throughout the night

Just how do you trace a fog?

~ Brendan Bonsack

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