Psalm for the Mosquito

I let mosquitoes carve symphonies on my back.

I let them take as much as they need from me.

I don’t kill them. Even when they sting.

I don’t hurt them.

Take all the blood you need.

You’re tiny—

what’s filled

even mean to you?

My whole back is a bumpy road,

a clash of blood you won’t unsee.

Who else would willingly stay?

You hurt,

and burn like cathedrals.

Keep coming—

oh, you are all spark.

Still I’ll be here.

Keep biting.

I’ll still be here.

Guess what?

Your whole pack could attack,

compose, and still

I wrote it.