BEDBUGS Poem by Eliza Griswold
BEDBUGS
In the Bedouin's foam mattress,
a bedbug mother tips back her baby's chin
and pours my blood down his throat. You wrote
in all my wandering I risk my chance
to give birth. That's hardly true. All over
the earth, I've fed my flesh to bugs.
That's some kind of mother for you.
Saturday, July 7, 2018
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4/26/2024 1:25:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
