I too did not ask for this skin.
But the land made, like a bug trapped
beneath a glass, your breathless
boundary. Inside, insidious
fish dart and glitter,
greedy appetite of the dumb—
these envelopes of bodies
bursting.
You deserve better
than to disappear
into a vast and teeming
hunger.
We know our world.
Parke Haskelllives in LA, where she directs plays and writes poems.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop
