when i find a dead bug
in my underwear i know
it has been too long
without a frenzy to make myself
presentable, to turn
this body into something
you’d want to pull off the hanger.
i try to offer myself solace: i have
been so focused on nurturing i let
myself become a habitat. i am fertile
soil. i remember: the bug was dead.
if this unwashed body cannot support
one bug, i wonder what it is good for.