Yeah, humanity, it just makes you
want to just flip over your laptop and that kind of thing.
So I have a series of these.
There's one-star reviews of the Great Wall of China,
one-star review of the pyramids, you just
can't satisfy anybody sometimes, so.
I'm bringing something up here.
I hope no one's eating in the audience.
As of right now, I was told to give that warning.
I think it's beautiful, but I was also told--
my husband told me, please, please, give that warning.
If you are squeamish with insects, also just a heads up.
I'm going to show you an insect here, and yeah, great.
Is there-- there's probably-- can
you all see that in the back perhaps?
Is there any way to dim the light just a touch?
Yeah.
We already had it dimmed.
I know, I know.
Sure.
Just as an intro to this, Anne Sexton
has an incredible collection of bestiary poems.
I think she doesn't get enough credit for her bestiary poems,
where she is just--
I call her just mistress of metaphor.
She's just incredible with how she can just
slay you and realize you'll never write a metaphor ever
as nearly as good as Anne Sexton.
But she has a lot of bestiary poems, which are poems
addressing animals or making fun of animals
or criticizing animals.
And there's one in particular.
I heard just recently that there's
an insect festival happening this weekend,
is anybody going to that insect festival?
Oh fantastic, I will be there.
And when one of my hostesses asked,
I don't know if you happen to like insects?
There might be an insect festival.
I was trying to have as much chill as possible
and saying, why yes, I might like insects just a little bit.
I'm going to show you just a little clip.
Anne Sexton wrote a poem making fun and just not
really being very kind to the cockroach.
And I love cockroaches, which I know
is a weird thing to say, but specifically
Madagascar cockroaches.
The way they give birth is unlike anything else
in the insect world.
They are mostly upside down, and they give birth
not to eggs but to live cockroaches, who
are white as you can see.
And they eventually turn the dark brown, black color
shortly thereafter.
So there's a lot of people who keep them as pets.
A few years ago, just so you know,
the Bronx Zoo was having a special fundraiser.
You could send a valentine to somebody.
Not the cockroach, because they have a cockroach exhibit,
but you can name one of their Madagascar cockroaches
from your loved one.
So my husband knows that was the greatest expression of love.
There's a cockroach named Dustin Parsons in the Bronx Zoo
on behalf of that.
So if we could just show for just a little bit,
how do we do that?
Do you want the sound on or no?
Oh no, I think.
I just wanted you to give a 10-second glimpse
of what happens here.
OK, great.
I think it's beautiful, and it's like a blossoming, I think.
People keep them as pets.
They're actually extremely clean.
If you've ever seen a cockroach exhibit
at a zoo or something like that, it's
almost certainly it's a Madagascar cockroach.
And they're about maybe 4 to 5 inches long.
What else?
I just think it's beautiful, and again,
there's something so amazing that-- you think of bugs,
and you think of like, oh, they lay eggs, and it's just--
no.
As you'll see, the ones that are first born,
they just start growing.
The minute their skin touches oxygen,
they start the process of turning
the cockroach brown color.
Anyway, that's the gist of it.
The whole birth takes like almost like a half hour,
so I won't do that to you.
Can we just pass it out?
I wanted to get you a visual.
So Anne Sexton has a poem called "The Cockroach,"
and it's basically just saying you're so worthless
on this planet, that kind of thing.
This is "The Cockroach Responds,"
and there's a small little epigraph.
This is from the Anne Sexton poem.
"And when I turn on the light, you scuttle into the corners
and there is this hiss upon the land," Anne Sexton.
Here's the cockroach's response.
"But of course, you didn't stick around for the bloom of babies.
And whatever evil I was given, I swallowed,
which is more than I can say for some women.
It became a beautiful swell in my side,
and when my body could not bear it, I stood on my head
and offered myself up to the lavender lining of the clouds.
The world and all I know would be, could be good again.
I have another chance.
My young will learn to land safe, even though they
can never sprout wings.
I'll teach them the fine trick of walking up
jelly smeared aquarium glass.
You can bet my babies will always
remember to watch out for sticky tongue and sticky beaks."