Poetry by Shannon Devlin


On a documentary you find out about
the relationship between wasps and
figs how they burrow into the pretty
fruit pretty thick skin pretty pink flesh
and lay their eggs in the saccharine until
they perish and you are jealous because
how dare they feel so safe in the dark
while still knowing this is the end safe
enough to think nothing will happen there
safe enough to let go next to their unborn
In the belly of the figs they must realize
the pretty sweet things are plucked first
the time from stem to lips is small you
say “I wish there was a sweetness to rest this
body into” you cannot handle the sharp corners
you are tired of the light you are waspy and
wishful sting buzzed but crushed under thumb
and forefinger maybe next time you’ll be lucky
you’ll wake up to sugary syrup pooling around
your little feet eyes not yet adjusted and you
will look at her and say mother I am home
aren’t I?


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