It happened at Chicxulub, reflected in cold saurian
eyes, earth slammed skyward, quartz and shock glass
half-way to the moon. For sixty years, dust shrouded
the sun, the ammonites, the marine reptiles, all things
on land larger than a dog. Wherever you stand, you
can place a fingertip on extinction, one centimeter
of clay. That’s what it’s like. One day, something
flashes, no knowing what it is, then impact and a
hurried taking stock. The biggest disappear into haze,
while the insignificant, sniffing freedom, mutate.
Devon Balwit is a poet and educator from Portland, Oregon. She has a chapbook, Forms Most Marvelous, forthcoming from dancing girl press (summer 2017). Her recent poems can be found in: Oyez, The Cincinnati Review, Red Paint Hill, The Ekphrastic Review, Noble Gas Quarterly, Timberline Review, Trailhead Magazine, Vector, and Permafrost.