Insectophobia

Like a helicopter, the

ceiling fan with a light

bulb protruding from its

center contorts the orange

light and, suddenly, the

creature is an insect

in flight. Only a fan,

still, my hands shake, ‘no, no,

we cannot believe you.’

The insect comes closer,

the glow of an orange

ceiling fan light lighting

the creature’s eyes.

He seems

more afraid than I,

as if I, with my shaking

hands that never trust me

and my dumb child eyes, I

was the only evil in this room.

The insect said I want

to call a priest, “I want you

out of my home.” I said

“Oh, buggy, baby, I don’t

leave. I’ll stand here,

listening to my hands and ceiling fan

born insects for eternity.”