Mosquito
By Myronn Hardy
She visits me when the lights are out,
when the sun is loving another
part of the world.
She passes through the net I sleep under like
a cloud its holes are easily navigable.
Her buzzing tells me that
she doesn’t want my legs arms cheeks
or chest.
No.
She craves adventure wanting to travel through
the dark canal the spiraling cave
where earthquakes are wind.
Her prize is in sight the gelatinous mass controlling this machine.
How beautiful she thinks it is her needle mouth
filling with water.
Her children will know physics geometry will understand
English Spanish perhaps Portuguese. They will be
haunted their whole lives by trees guns
and a boom that won’t cease.
She cries before drinking the fluid is
salty-sweet. Oh if my mother had
done this for me I would have lived.
