Jill Koren
Photo: longhorndave
It flies up out of the tub drain
it is definitely a bat
but she has a human face
She shrieks at me and flaps
her leathery wings like a glove
thrown to the sky
(Lawrence’s beautiful image)
She squeals and dives
toward the round white porcelain
Wheeeeeeee! and plunges
into a waterslide of plumbing
Later I am eating
in some exotic land
And realize the dish before me
is Bat—
a delicacy in Kosrae— little ears
and chewy wings
all in a red sauce
It tastes greasy and gamey
as I imagine rat might.
I would rather be in Tonga
whose natives consider bats sacred
a physical form for a formless soul
but I am not in Tonga
I am in my own bed,
my own bed.
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