Midnight #5, 2020
Inkjet print on canvas
ODE TO A DINOSAUR, GONE FROM HER CAGE
When she did roar, she roared at someone for getting too close to her cage atop the bookcase. She puffed up her feathers and bore the phantom teeth from which she had evolved. She roared at the dinosaurs flying outside her window, keeping their mocking caws and chattering where they belonged: out among the trees, away from her seeds and carrot shreds.
She lived like this until she aged ten years towards the ground.
She might have been sick.
I buried her in the yard at my family home, digging deep into the old earth so she could be with the rest of her kind. They welcomed her. In millions of years, a paleontologist would discover her bones and wonder what she was. She might kickstart a new age of discovery.
There is a ghost in her cage now, roaring when we get close. She flits and rattles the bars that shouldn’t contain her anymore. I climb on top of the bookcase every night and perch like she did, in stark remembrance.
Nick Perilli is a writer and library person living in Philadelphia with loved ones who have yet to watch Gremlins 2 with him. His debut novel, Cul-de-sac, is forthcoming from Montag Press. Short work of his can be found in Back Patio Press, Milk Candy Review, and elsewhere. He tweets @nicoloperilli and spared no expense on his cheap website nickperilli.com.
Bach has been making photographs for over forty years and enjoys the flexible process of Photoshop. In the past, he created complex imagery in the camera through multiple exposures and in the darkroom through multiple printing. Now Bach is free to shoot and then create on the screen through Photoshop.