Bright with bumblebees, the meadow frolicks in the sentimental sun. A child with a magnifying glass haunts the ants and butterflies. When I see a giant Monarch come up behind him with a giant one, I don’t tell the kid until he’s starting to singe a little. I side with the hexagonal bees in all things, from dancing to dissing. If the bees don’t like you, neither do I. I was born a poppy in a field of pastel dreams.
Day: September 27, 2026
Mermaids
Jealous molecules cling on to their exes. The amorphous film of water over my skin makes me shine. Fanged mermaids patrol the drooling shoreline. I, too, am dangerous, and I do not budge. Their eyes glow. My hair is autonomous, and flows toward one’s neck, strangling her. Men are a myth here. In my dreams last night I stood at the edge of a haunted wilderness I’ve only ever seen in my slumber. The abandoned house slick with demonic intent was across the marshy field. For the first time, I did not cross the field into the ramshackle shack. This place follows me. And when you feel the essence of evil breathing behind you, watching and enjoying your fear, you fear nothing after that. Pink and poisonous, I taunt the remaining mermaids into surrender.