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# The Biologist
- URL: https://www.fsm.ink/the-biologist/
- Published: 2024-06-10T01:51:43.000Z
- Updated: 2026-06-03T18:08:41.000Z
- Author: Miranda Lawson
- Tags: Poetry, #Import 2026-08-03 09:59

*by Miranda Lawson*

At night I cradle my little book and document the species of loss.   
It’s a diverse genus, you know:

small things, lithe and writhing,  
nest in the ruins of vacation flings—sand castles   
smoothed over by hands that have grown   
too large, too far to mark the fingerprints—  
her face stretches  
above clouded memories, and the small things fold  
 in fleshy ribbons between the gaps.

megafauna plod through backgrounds of my life,  
chewing our photographs till they grow soft  
like mulch, soft like mothy couch cushions, soft like falling   
down and down into the rhythm of the hairbrush  
I drew through my daughter’s pain and mine.  
the beast blinks; I catch my snarled reflection in its eye  
and reach for the hairbrush in the bottom of a drawer that is not there.

today, a new specimen skittered out of my shower:  
family *paguroidea*, cousin to the hermit crab,  
chitinous rogue living off scraps of names and bodies  
we have sloughed off into the rain like a muddy t-shirt  
or a mother’s phone call.  
the things which no longer serve us swerve atop its many legs.  
when they fall —or are swept away— they smear the pavement  
but at least they are underfoot.

At night I cradle my little book and ponder the species of loss.  
Between the entries, I write my name.

*Miranda “Mir” Lawson (they/she) loves using whimsical, surreal, and sometimes* 
*gruesome stories to unearth everyday truths. They fill their days at Lawrence with bright colors and even brighter friends who encourage her to constantly create.*