Sunday Poem

HOW THE TIKATAALIK CAME ONTO LAND

Something caught. A stronger jaw,

a first digit, a current sweeping the smaller

thriving prey to shallow water.

Devonian fluke. Nothing simply walked out;

nothing wriggled quite like doubt

on a bare corkboard of thought,

so we pinned it down, with gusto.

A theory goes that vascular leaves

were shedding in the subtropics,

twining and spreading like fishing nets.

A theory goes something more than blood and scales

was needed to stay anchored in the undertow.

A theory floats, raises sail.

It moves on water that twists

and breaks against itself like a losing team.

A dynasty sets. I wanted to say I regret

not having played more baseball.

I wanted to say you've been gone a long time

for going to get milk, five minutes you said,

and here are your keys

and the doors they open like traps.

From Tiny. Frantic, Stronger (2010) by Jeff Latosik.