101

"worms" from the onemanshort studio



101


We’re mothers to the worm and must
forgive the suckling of the innocent.
They don’t know the jolt of breaking skin,
the bone-aching desperation
of anemic exhaustion, only the thrill
of blood-taste, the need to be satiated.
This, we accept. Encourage.
This is why babysitters have 401ks,
so they don’t suckle each other.
The generations are unimportant.
Only now is important.
Don’t tell me I’m wrong.
It might damage my sense of self-worth.
Accommodations must be made
for the slime-trail, the leaf damage.
Rains come
and we spend all morning tossing
them back into the grass.
In the dawn-light, as our tea
steeps, through the window,
see them wriggle back out
onto the blacktop to dry and burn
as our perfect round scars itch.

~CL Bledsoe~

Posted over on 13 Myna Birds