Scrub Pine

the low whine of a mosquito rings deep in my right ear
even though I’ve pulled my sleeping bag very tight around my face
I can’t escape it

mourning on the farm
bees thrust themselves into the window screen, their bodies hanging heavy in the humid air

at this point, I can almost discern the order of insect by the tenor of its wing-beats

I prayed for rain last night and it came

a mosquito has taken a bite out of my ass
she needs the protein in animal blood to form her eggs

alternatively:
world’s deadliest insect
how you drink my blood like you earned it

every time my blood is drawn at the doctor,
I get worried about where it gets disposed

at least I know where this blood is going:
mosquitos’ larvae
wriggling below the scummy surface of dishwater I haven’t yet drained

tired water pools gently in the cast-iron skillet,
soaking last night’s dinner off in swollen flakes

I spray bug dope up my legs until it sloughs blue nail polish off my toenails
all the while thinking:
drink and be whole again beyond confusion.

KATIE CORRIGAN is a recent sociology graduate of Middlebury College working in environmentalism and food sovereignty. Her work is concerned with how connection to place, femininity, and longing show up in the body. Her poems have also appeared in GRLSQUASH. She’s based in Chicago, Illinois and Casper, Wyoming. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s