worms

i feel them
in my stomach
in the silence between blinks
tiny, slow things
chewing through the parts of me
i tried to keep alive

no one tells you
grief doesn’t rot you all at once
it takes its time
it starts with your name
and ends with your faith

i stood outside
with the hose in my hand
tried to wash the dirt off
but it clung
not the mud
not the blood
just the knowing

the worms don’t fear water
they stretch inside me
like unspoken apologies
like phone calls i never made
they know i’m too tired
to dig them out

people say

i should just pray
but they’ve never been hollowed
never laid in bed
with a chest full of soil
and dreams growing
the wrong way

i feel them
at night the most
when the world quiets
and the body forgets
how to lie
they curl around my ribs,
whispering
everything I’ve lost
and everything i’ll never be

i scream
without sound
turn the hose
on myself again
but some dirt
is spiritual
some stains
have made a home
in the marrow

and the worms…
they don’t just crawl
they inherit