T-rex, Child’s Play

If a potential

suitor is not voted

best in class —— if they do not

excel in their field (our cows

are out standing in their fields)

can I still love them?

If they’ve already given me

reason for forgiveness

by naming my deepest

faults, deepest fissures, without

recrimination. If they have

seen me/named me/rec-

ognized me by my most condemning

diagnosis——Achilles’ heel——am I free

to love them? What

would Achilles do? ——dipped

in the river Styx, pinched

at the ankle. Run for his life? ——Seek

shelter? Wouldn’t we all? For that matter, what, the other day,

did the six-year-old sprawled

on my office floor, the one who named——recognized——

my Tyrannosaurus rex (NOT “T-REX”, THAT’S NOT

HIS FULL NAME) do when I caught his

theropod’s scaly tendon

in my Velociraptor’s claws and named it

Achilles? He morphed

into a serpent——quick

as a heartbeat——and slithered

away. My own heart

broke, wondering what

did he know of vul-

nerability——what of

ability? What had he

scrappled together

from the landscape of his upbringing——up-

rising——to comprehend

of ability? thievery? sleight

of hand? ——where

would he go now, what

would he do——tucked

inside himself——to secure

a tapestry

of connection——of compan-

ionability——in this,

his modest

kingdom?

Katie Johntz