Years from now they’ll sift the top layers
Of our homes and separate us into the communal-loving
Apartment dwellers and the staunch people
Of the stucco mansions.
We will be reconstructed as always-at-war
And they will decide that
That is the reason for our so many miniature tanks.
We will be found to have littered the earth
With our disposables and yet walked upright,
Some of us, like giants or ants-on-fire
Never far from the earth and with our palms
Always curled up in defense. There will be no need
To track our existence by the stars
Or the one great dawn lifting up our oceans.
They will lift the ground of our souls out of us like you
Would lift, with one hand, a hollow skull.
Holly Sinclair 