Dunk sliced celery in muddy water
your lips tasting the
garden where as a child you dug
for earthworms, their mottled bodies
e
rupt
ing. your hands stained with intestines, food
< not yet digested>
you ask for ranch dip but in its speckled surface
you see fly antennae, torn ant legs.
You eat because you can but the sun is blistering your
lips, breaking these bodies these bodies climbing down
your bloodied throat &
nothing like new plates stained
rust, from
peeled oranges or apricots
for you form you’re F
O
R G a story you’ll tell
M N
I
your own child, her painted fingernails
dusty with lady bug wings
sipping lemonade
(powdered, not fresh).
Come here. We have a feast.
carrot sticks & gorged pill bugs,
cricket legs in your potato chips flavored
just for you. I only thought of you.
Erin Jamieson (she/her) holds an MFA in creative writing from Miami University of Ohio. Her writing has been published in over 80 literary magazines, and her fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is the author of the poetry collection Clothesline (NiftyLit, Feb 2023). Find her on Twitter @erin_simmer
