“Here Are Tigers” – Margaret Yapp

The opposite of a map, not so long ago
everything was gigantic.
Some would have said miraculous.
We hadn’t yet committed
Earth to round or flat. There were sea pigs
in the oceans, singing
in the bush, smallpox still on the boats.
We were just beginning.
It is not easy to love
what does not want to be found.
Platypus becomes natural-born idiot,
certain parrots eat herbs only at night,
in shadows we hunt forever
for foolishly moving stripes.
For at least one single answer.
We demand bones and video evidence.
Instead we find shit
stuck to the bottoms of our shoes and wonder
about plausibility — it becomes clear
Tasmanian tigers are very good
or very bad at hiding,
life is not romantic. Forests don’t need us
to stretch far as stars.
How only sort of matters, everyone dies.