Bite (Original Poem)

Photo: Artur Bieniek
Photo: Artur Bieniek

Do you remember the
fiddle
backs?
I see them all the time;

I kill them all the time
around my grandmother’s barn,
in fields, in the basement,
in the attic—
everywhere.
It’s rare that I
can prevent their arrival.

3 months ago,
12 PM on a Saturday—

remember?

Barefoot and pushing down,
seeing smears in colors
and the one, faint speck of
some 8-year-old mother nature sting.

But then I woke up
about 3;
I woke up rammed into one of those
ancient Chinese women’s shoes.

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