|
An Obsessive-Compulsive View of Ladybugs
Ladybug, you make me sick. You swarm
like the inverse of germs-a warm weather day
amidst the cold monotony of winter and in you come
through my window, true red splashed with black spots,
buzzing dumbly against the fluorescent lamp,
burning yourself the way a child burns his feet
on the sun-baked cement by a public pool,
over and over because you don’t know what else to do.
I want to press you beneath a white
tissue, squeeze that little bit of life
that is yours out with my fingers so I can see
its color and laugh because you are helpless.
Did you crawl into my ear last night?
I’m sure I felt your hard persistent wings
on my cerebrum, inhabiting a place
nothing should touch.
Do you think I am your mother?
My brain is not a breast for you to suckle.
Leave, tiny daemon.
Leave out of the hole you never
should have entered.
Leave and take these thoughts with you.
Comments:
Advice
I am pleased to see leaves die
and renew; it is nature, my silent advisor
in her metaphor: I should not despair.
We died together, you and I
though I am afraid you
turn into yourself. Crumble.
Afraid to fall that in falling
you fall further from heaven.
Proud to be alone, wind-beaten,
whipped with your own belt.
I tell you there are worse things
than hell.
Comments:
|
