VOXOxford Mississippi’s Independent Literary Journal

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Farrah Field Carrying 500 Times Your Weight

Once we gave each other whisperings.

You said oh shut up and I did.

In the beginning, you thumped

a preying mantis riding on my bag.

As I washed dishes, your mother told me

you nearly ripped her in half. There is

an ant calling me from its home.

We were divorced. Bees don’t understand.

I have a little box of the things I know,

a folded child’s name, a snowflake.

When I left I began to buzz.

I hit myself in the face with a flower.

Wasps know by knowing.

There is no night, only the time

when insects gather to watch us.

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