if i were dead, i’d still want you to scatter my bones 
on your porch, in the universe of evening
when they close the market & the sun
is casting a red lure that darkness 
stoops to. when girls
in backless tops & short shorts are learning 
how to turn a cigarette to smoke, how to 
make it disappear, then
inside them. i would rather be
eaten than buried:
the backwards usefulness of ash
to flesh, of part to particle, a creature feeding 
creature from the mouth.
extinction as really a wide shine
pulling together all the grey matter
before grass or even birds were invented 
dinosaurs stumbling in rising
tides of fire
someone holding her hand
over a candle until the light runs & spits.
are we not so full with potential
are we not girls 
who sit on their back
steps in the new night
they are raising hyenas on porridge & butter 
calling each one by her or his name 

First published Salo Press 2021

Molly Ellen Pearson