by Gregg Winkler

She called me a worm.
Well, she called me lots of things,
But what caught my ear was worm.

This reminded me of going fishing as a boy
Turning over flat rocks and laughing
When I found a big juicy one squirming underneath.

I thought about the disappointment
Of turning over rocks and finding nothing there.
It's interesting, the lives of rocks and worms.

I think she wanted me to be a rock
Like her. Worms are always hustling,
Dealing with shit. Rocks are stable, but they don't do much.

You've never gone out and found a rock transforming.
But the worm you saw with that rock yesterday –
Well, that doesn't mean it's going to be there today.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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