Poetry by Erin Marsh Tales of an Earwig You enter my brain like an earwig,through the moist, small crevice of my ear. An old wives’ tale suggests you lay eggs in my brain,and for a while it seems you have. At night I’m convinced tender hatchlings inform dreams where kisses tickle my sulcus and gyrus, igniting visions of your mouth on mine. Vividsensations caused by your stout,pincer-like cerci on my frontal lobe,rattle memories of your bodyon mine like bones. It turns out that those impressionsare neural, that you’ve actually spent the night scrambling your way out of my head.
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Poetry by Erin Marsh Tales of an Earwig You enter my brain like an earwig,through the moist, small crevice of my ear. An old wives’ tale suggests you lay eggs in my brain,and for a while it seems you have. At night I’m convinced tender hatchlings inform dreams where kisses tickle my sulcus and gyrus, igniting visions of your mouth on mine. Vividsensations caused by your stout,pincer-like cerci on my frontal lobe,rattle memories of your bodyon mine like bones. It turns out that those impressionsare neural, that you’ve actually spent the night scrambling your way out of my head.
Zoom Info
Poetry by Erin Marsh Tales of an Earwig You enter my brain like an earwig,through the moist, small crevice of my ear. An old wives’ tale suggests you lay eggs in my brain,and for a while it seems you have. At night I’m convinced tender hatchlings inform dreams where kisses tickle my sulcus and gyrus, igniting visions of your mouth on mine. Vividsensations caused by your stout,pincer-like cerci on my frontal lobe,rattle memories of your bodyon mine like bones. It turns out that those impressionsare neural, that you’ve actually spent the night scrambling your way out of my head.
Zoom Info
Poetry by Erin Marsh Tales of an Earwig You enter my brain like an earwig,through the moist, small crevice of my ear. An old wives’ tale suggests you lay eggs in my brain,and for a while it seems you have. At night I’m convinced tender hatchlings inform dreams where kisses tickle my sulcus and gyrus, igniting visions of your mouth on mine. Vividsensations caused by your stout,pincer-like cerci on my frontal lobe,rattle memories of your bodyon mine like bones. It turns out that those impressionsare neural, that you’ve actually spent the night scrambling your way out of my head.
Zoom Info

Poetry by Erin Marsh

Tales of an Earwig

You enter my brain like an earwig,
through the moist, small crevice 
of my ear. An old wives’ tale suggests 
you lay eggs in my brain,
and for a while it seems you have.

At night I’m convinced tender 
hatchlings inform dreams where kisses 
tickle my sulcus and gyrus, igniting 
visions of your mouth on mine. Vivid
sensations caused by your stout,
pincer-like cerci on my frontal lobe,
rattle memories of your body
on mine like bones.

It turns out that those impressions
are neural, that you’ve actually spent 
the night scrambling 
your way out of my head.

Source: paperdarts.org

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