Hollie Dugas
Self Portrait of an Elephant Tusk I surfaced like a white scar, curving the interest of an entire matriarchy and tormenting an entire bloodline, stretching trunk to tail. I am protector forager, mover of obstacles. I do not want to line a piano— you, hunter, caressing me with the tips of your mud-stained fingers. I am meant for majesties. My herd mourns their dead. I have nightmares of them—without me— hemorrhaging on open fields, their large bodies sensitive to blades of grass. One day, man might take a liking to carve into me too— elephas, an ancient curse to be gouged from the head of a bull like a tooth-charm. Spare me some dignity; if anything, let me go on, untreated and raw, spend my days a tool in hand, peeling bark from trees, grazing the hide of Mother Nature like a bright husk of moon.
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