Poetry. Writerly Advice. Memoir. Literary Analysis. Book Reviews. Serious Journalism. |
|
Every year, I write a little poem on my birthday. It's not perfect and it's never finished. This is what I wrote this year:
Tomorrow is my birthday I feel ants sharpen their teeh readying to peel back my rind. It'll be easy for the ants and the beetles to find me -- the grave, handdug is near the wasp's nest under my favorite fig tree. Three hours of pulling earth away from itself, and my fingernails clogged-- I can smell chicken manure from last year's harvest.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Services OfferedArchives
August 2020
Categories
All
|