the murmur between blades of sedge we cannot know. the scream of stones crushed in a cement mixer, too. a butter cup broken no matter how soft a baby’s hand. i crushed a spider egg on my giant nails yesterday. i know a hundred more embedded in the holly’s fibers invisible to me. yet tears drip on my stone heart. my cruel pretenses uncovered by an egg i splattered on boiling oil this morning. imagine the chirp i gobbled. would you think me weird if next time we meet i cackle? not to worry. i’ll take fertility pills to silence me. remain mute the better for clean air.
taken for a baby a cackling puppet