Bedbugs by Eliza Griswold

In the Bedouin's foam mattress,
a bedbug mother tips back her baby's chin
and pours my blood down his throat. You wrote
in all my wandering I risk my chance
to give birth.  That's hardly true.  All over
the earth, I've fed my flesh to bugs.
That's some kind of mother for you.

The News by Arda Collins

At last, terror has arrived.

Next door, the house has gone up in flames.

A woman runs from the burning wreck, her face smeared

with blood and ashes. She screams that her children are kidnapped.

It's truly exciting and what more would anyone ask?

For a rare and beautiful egg to present itself in the grass?

For sex with the liquor store owner to progress into something meaningful

You don't know what I've done in front of the mirror.

I've pulled my shorts up high like a thong. I've walked back and forth

doing little kicks and making faces. I've stopped, I've stared.

I try to get my mind around the sight of myself. I make a face.

Of great seriousness. I imagine that I've just received

a large upsetting piece of news. Then I look into my eyes.

Can I guess what I am thinking? Can I tell you what it is?