Ground Beetle

This entry is part 36 of 37 in the series Bridge to Nowhere: poems at mid-life


One day when I was 14
I found a ground
beetle under my bed—
glossy black,
fast & furtive.
I grabbed a thick book
& beat it to death.

I liked beetles but
this one frightened me.
It belonged under rocks
in the forest, not two feet
below my pillow,
burrowing through the carpet
while I slept.

My voice was changing.
The beetle disposed of,
life went on as before
but in a lower key.

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