The Fossil of Us (Signed Edition)
What will we leave
in the ashes and dust
What will become
the fossil of us?
A collection of poetry for anyone trying to stay tender in a world that feels like it's fraying. Pre-order now to receive your signed copy in May 2026.
In the Natural History Museum in London, with tired feet and a heavy toddler in arms, Will Small looked at the fossil record of ancient species and couldn't shake this question: when someone studies us, what will they find?
This collection moves between hills hoists and climate collapse, bath bombs and prayer, the death of the family dog and the deaths of children in places we scroll past.
God loses faith in humanity. A chatbot gives home renovation advice. Human inefficiency is celebrated.
Funny where it needs to be, and devastating where it earns the right to be, The Fossil of Us doesn't resolve the tension between the smallness of our daily lives and the scale of what we're facing. It insists that tension is where we must live.
“In these poems, the ordinary acts of living, grieving, laughing and tending become the fragile, luminous record of what it meant to be human.”
— Sara M. Saleh, award-winning writer and human rights lawyer
“Will’s writing has a way of breathing life into the mundane and reinvigorates a wonder for what we take for granted. If you feel like you’ve been breathing stale air, this is the book for you."
— Andrew Cox, founder and creative producer of Canberra Poetry Slam
"The Fossil of Us is an exquisite collection of raw spirituality and tender humanity explored through the eye of our everyday... touching and thoughtful poems contemplating our flaws and what we will become as we exist through fragile and tender moments of parenthood and marriage."
— Fiona Lloyd, award-winning author
My love’s been
out in the garden
coaxing life forth
in two-metre-squared plots
while
I’ve been lost in my grey matter
gaming out ways
the world might collapse
I’m out with a basket
pegging clothes on the line
laundry list of risks spinning
a hills hoist in my mind
ecological crisis
spiritual blindness
superintelligence
misaligned, malevolent
Jesus,
it’s me again -
you listening?
How long until
the meek
receive their inheritance?
Been days
since I’ve picked up
the dog shit
I promise
tomorrow
I’ll get round to it
Kids
are in the tub
bath bomb in the water
I smell
its sweet musk
through the screen door
Pull the youngest one up
with a crisp towel
Feel his warm skin
on my cheek
My boy,
I often wonder
what awaits you
When you’re
my age
what will remain?
Can we
turn this ship
before the light fades?
For now,
your Mama’s
out in the garden
tending life
two square metres at a time