Sometimes I Worry About

Sometimes I Worry About

How often dead things find their way into my bed:
	the mouse that swallowed poison,
		all the sunbugs at my parents’ house,
			the torn bird under the sheets.
	
But I do not take them as signs I am a woman cursed.
	My doctor sees to it that I bleed,
		shares with me a box of apricot rugelach 
			between rounds of test.

On the hottest days, I swim out to the center of the lake,
	and all the lives I will lead kick against me.

-Published in Front Porch Journal, Issue 34.

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