In the suffocating humidity,
I walk home.
Emerald dragonflies alight
on my path,
and most days,
I mistake them for wasps,
angling for my ankles –
all the while the sun
is boiling my empty stomach
and turning my brain
inside out.
I will promise to try giving up
irregular cadences
and microwaving
bacon wrapped dates
At 3:42 AM, even if I don’t like my odds.
I must
learn to break
less of my fingernails
opening boxes and –
to tilt my head when my nose
bleeds and bleeds,
even though it trickles
down my throat
and I hate the way it tastes like a bottlecap.
Most of all, I have to try
to forgive the dragonflies, not begrudge their nature,
I have to learn to distinguish
a real threat
from a false alarm. ∎
Pat Miller is a writer and former line cook currently teaching pre-K literacy in Memphis. His work has previously appeared in several literary journals around the country, such as The Dilettante of New Orleans and The Healing Muse of New York. His poetry frequently takes the form of self-produced zines, such as Garden Variety, published by Bottlecap Press. He is also a reader for the Arkansas International literary magazine. His interests and writing dwell on disillusionment, shared experiences, and connections between people, the world, and poetry.
Featured image: Plate 53: Southern Hawker Dragonfly, c.1575/1590s, Joris Hoefnagel
The Dilettante 