This Bug is Flying in My Face and I’m a Little Stressed

Poetry

Nov 12

Remember that time

we reclined in the car

and your own words

split you in two?

It was kind of

like when that cooking show lady

we always watched

slit open a pomegranate and

ruby red seeds just poured out.

I grasped the zipper

and fastened you back together

with metal teeth and pencil lead,

but it didn’t hold.

You swatted a fly and fell apart.

This poem by Vicki was originally published in Projected Letters Literary Journal.

Vicki Austin

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