+ by Rebecca Kokitus

little symbol, little opposite
of emptiness
the first name you’re given
and the last

little larvae, little tadpole
knocking against the walls
of my bowels

little bee sting, little parasite
suspended in your
bloated blood cave like a bat
—you never blink

foam at the mouth,
spit up rabid water
mourning sickness
I’m mourning you, you sense it

sense the morning
you’ll break like a fever,
nothing but roadkill guts
in my underwear

and I’ll mourn you then, too.

 

Rebecca Kokitus is a part time resident of Media, PA just outside Philadelphia, and a part time resident of a small town in rural Schuylkill County, PA. She is an aspiring poet and is currently an undergraduate in the writing program at West Chester University of Pennsylvania. She has recent work in Moonchild Magazine, Rising Phoenix Review, and Rose Quartz Journal, among other places. She tweets at @rxbxcca_anna.

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