Centipede – St. George Jackson Mivart, from “On the Genesis of Species,” 1870
Sometimes domestic life can be as unsettling as a pipe full of creeping centipedes, as Juliet Cook shows us in her wry & visceral “Domestic Mini-Horror,” one of two poems she contributed to our Winter 2015 issue.
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WHY AM I SUDDENLY GETTING DOMESTIC roaming charges while talking on the phone with my mom
who lives fifteen minutes away?
Why am I crowded by too much normalcy,
with not enough uncanny ghost wings
flying underneath my sheets?
Who tossed my streaks of clairvoyance
all the way down into the damned garbage disposal?
Whoever you are, this won’t last forever.
If I concentrate hard enough, I can create
my own onslaught. I can shiftily rise myself
out of that slimy, dirty hole.
Centipedes will start maneuvering up
out of that disposal, dripping red,
but still crawling.
As 2014 has been careening through its homestretch, our Flappers have been even more prolific than usual, getting their work published across the internet like there won’t be a 2015.