by Tess Joyce
With such a name,
I often wondered if heaven was a ceiling
where mosquito ghosts would go
to ponder their purpose, to wonder
or panic
that nothing is there but a great bulb of light when we die.
I often wondered if heaven was a ceiling
where mosquito ghosts would go
to ponder their purpose, to wonder
or panic
that nothing is there but a great bulb of light when we die.
