I always knew that aqua, when it appeared
in ingredients lists on bottles,
just meant water, and that half the things in there
were poisonous alone. And I knew that when it said
silk extract it did not mean they’d poured
crushed dresses into the mess,
but actually silkworm extract: little bodies
like fat thread, skinned and still wriggling.
But I was still surprised to find when dry
a rash of raspberry bumps livid on my arms
and legs, running wild on my stomach and my neck –
as if the worms were drinking water in there somewhere,
still alive, filling up my body with cocoons.
Author notes
Now I must write poems about something other than silkworms.
Comments
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Hello, I'm going to stalk you on allpoetry now! (and you are away and can't complain muahahaha) and give you random comments and you can't stop me!
"crushed dresses into the mess" has a lovely ring to it. So does "skinned and still wriggling", actually, but in a different way. -
that is fucking creepy, and I like it. I love the cadence to the first section, it's really... this is really good.
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