Giving Thanks
A stink bug has landed on my lips.
I am in and of the grass,
laying down
a living foundation.
Out of nowhere,
I think of my mother
and her hot Irish temper.
I swipe the oval brown insect away,
cursing all the irritating, and crawly,
then I doze.
I am a raised earthwork,
a forgiving quietude under the sun -
thank you mum.
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