Small Stands

A Poem

Apr 23, 2025

∙ Paid

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

I am my Mother’s Daughter.
Her partner brought home arms

full of Carpenter Bee boxes.
Twelve wooden coffins.

So she burned them in the fire. 
They deserve to live 

their tiny lives   
unburdened 

by obtuse tries to rid ourselves 
of anything undesirable.

N.J. SIMAT

Keep reading with a 7-day free trial

Subscribe to Literature & SciPhilosophy to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.