Phobia

I have always been afraid of flying insects,
and change.
and now the unforeseen future turns frighteningly minute and crawls
on me like a phantom cockroach first on my chest now
in the lining of my too-tight jeans now near
the corner of my mouth scraping edges
with felt feet, now deep in my hair.
You told me you were scared
of butterflies and I scoffed; but now each year becomes a maimed sightless
insect with blind blue wings brushing against my wet cheek

:and my skin turns blue with dust and my teeth turn taut,
the taste of powder in my mouth,
soft hairy feelers climbing up my neck. My face is covered in butterflies,
And as the hairs rise, I shrivel like a fruit;
but it is only
your eyelashes against my skin



but there are blood spots on my palm
like an inverted ladybird
and don’t you see don’t you see
I am terrified
of what is to come, of what is not
to come what is to come that we did not want to come
what is not to come that we did


you flutter in sleep and my terror turns testimony
to your nightmares; I do not know what you dream
but your skin crawls
and out from your hair a dream flits bright like a dragonfly
and disappears into the dusk-laden light


Each day I worship at the shrine of the folded wing
No one knew how terrified I have always been.