Bulb

Inspired by the poem "Q and A: Do you have any tips? Answer #2" by Julianna Baggott.

 

How many times do I have to say it: Listen,

a whine in a bulb,

its hiss of life,

the fragile sister of the mosquito, the electric life of wings.

There is a wheel rut for each of us somewhere.

Look closely at the skein of eggs,

root the mud for a clamped oyster

fallen from a truck. Cover your nose and mouth

with both hands, and there,

in that shallow cup,

feel a buffalo’s breathing steam.

A toppled stone, its face veiled by weeds—

crouch. The blooms become helmets.

Allow for delirium, a thirst. Take in

so much sun that you feel a cold absence,

as if you’ve sipped a hole into the world.

Done