Eurydice
/By E.B. Schnepp
there was no such thing as poetry until a woman
in a field opened her throat to exclaim how
beautiful a bumblebee / was perched on the
webbing between her thumb / and index, the
moment before she changed before him / from
flower to threat and he did the only thing he
could, / impaled himself on her, shredded
himself for a hive of beloveds.
E.B. Schnepp is a poet currently residing in Chicago. Their work has been featured in Poetry Daily and can be found in Gulf Coast, Nat. Brute, and Iron Horse Review, among others.
