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Poem
by Nicole
Hefner
The
Flea
A flea,
black,
thin-lipped, forty-legged,
crawls across
the left cheek
of my mother,
in this scene,
dead.
A snail, green,
velvet-bellied,
stands above
my father,
waves.
Moon out,
the snail grows aroused,
crawls on top of the flea,
asks,
“Can you breathe
with the weight of me?”
Poor flea!
Dead flea!
Blue dressed flea,
yellow apple haired flea,
silver spoon eyed flea,
you may bury
your tiny head
here,
your tiny head
here.
Nicole Hefner's poems, stories and essays have
appeared in many publications including Painted
Bride Quarterly, Washington Square, New
York Quarterly and lingo. She was a finalist in the Iowa Review's
2003 Award for Literary Nonfiction and was recently nominated for Dave
Eggers's The Best American Nonrequired Reading. She lives, loves, works
and writes in New York City. |
