Poetry | Forest fire // Walking with dinosaurs

It begins for the same reasons:
spark, air and ready material, grassless
under conifer. You
study a wax diorama of the soon-to-be
Antarctic jungle, ornithischian
dinosaurs—eating a plastic fern—named
after Qantas; you’re exhuming
the bones of an Airbus A330 beside
the Pteranodons, angelic actinofibrils
stretched overhead like cherubs/principalities
a model beak, a reconstructed lack
of fangs. The sky is humid with not-dinosaurs,
unseasonable amounts of methane
in the troposphere, parting gift of the last mass
extinction. Something lumpen provides matches
like a teen rebel. The Diplodocus sniff
the trail of smoke, audience thinks oh shit fire is still
real, even here … The creche tastes the air
    —The erotic tension between a name and
fossilising—You may watch skin/hair almost turning
scaled in heat. Kenneth Branagh narrates Thanks
to their size, the closeness of prehistoric forests
they can only amble, as the red approaches.

Josie/Jocelyn Suzanne

Josie/Jocelyn Suzanne is a freelance editor/writer/programmer. Their work has appeared in CorditeSoutherly and Rabbit Journal among others. They were shortlisted for the 2022 Val Vallis award, and were the recipient of the 2021 Harri Jones memorial prize, as well as being one of the 2021 Next Chapter fellowship recipients. They are a genderqueer trans femme and live on unceded Wurundjeri land in Naarm.

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