Earwigs
.
Back on the farm
My father told me to
Dig up a sandy sump or two
To lay down on my belly and
Scoop out the dirt by hand
So not to damage anything inside
Earwigs had died
So many generations and their bodies
Had compacted and become the lobbies
Tunnels and hatcheries of the living generation
It was revolting but now in my imagination
It’s helped me understand culture
.
-PT
