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today wriggling in the corner of my eye
raising familiar neck hairs
it’s only an inch worm I berate myself

even at five I knew I shouldn’t be afraid
was more afraid to complain
Mommy didn’t like complications

a large room to myself
two prized hand carved beds
made of timbers from Las Flats Ranch

tall, thick and pegged sturdy
I’d climb and tuck myself in
the moon bright across my torso

then lay arms at my sides
tell myself to be brave
breathe and wait

leaving their woody homes behind
they would ooze more than crawl
pale and plump with ink black heads

smaller than my pinkie I’d tell myself
to steady my breath
as they crawled across my chest

This poem is offered up for Poetics: Sendak & the Wild Things over at dVerse.

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