Arlene Ang


An earthworm twists.
You reach out.
I drop the trowel
too late to slap your hands
from milking
the moist Ovaltine
temptation of soil.

What's in a worm, anyway?
you whine.
The sinewy end
struggles in the deathtrap
of your 5-year-old lips,
as if you were suddenly god.

Life, into which I brought you,
in which you delight,
you savor now
between your teeth.

Revision of poem previously published
in Maelstrom (Volume II, Issue 5, 1999).

Date of Birth: September 7, 1974
Location: Venice, Italy
Occupation: Translator, Web designer, Reluctant housewife
Publications: Rattle, Oyster Boy Review, Pierian Springs, 3rd Muse Poetry Journal, Sometimes City, Red Booth Review, Stirring
Editor Of: Italian Niederngasse

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