Under the upended playhouse, rosy worms squirm. Pink and long, strings of sinew, lines so symmetrical. One has a salmon ring around its middle. Nothing I learned in childhood about worms is true anymore. They don’t have a head, or an end, or they have too many hearts. Under the upended playhouse, rosy worms squirm. What still seems to be true: they are pale against dark dirt. Pink and long, strings of sinew, lines so symmetrical. They move through soil in tunnels only as big as their bodies. Under the upended playhouse, rosy worms squirm. They must not be claustrophobic.
Love how your mind/soul works.
😊