This is also on the same island, or one of these Greek islands.
This is different one.
"Playing House."
"I found another baby scorpion today.
Tiny.
Exquisite.
And this time, without his mother, alone in the bag
of onions.
I wonder what is between them.
Does she grieve someplace now up there hanging by her claws
as she makes her way awkwardly back and forth across my bamboo
ceiling?
Is there a bewildered sound like the goat
calling those long days after they ate her kid for Easter?
Is there a thin, whispery voice I
can't hear going back and forth, which the Chinese elm hears,
which the grapes, and ants, the spiders, and rat hear?
Or is it only insectal?
The sound of apparatus?
Did she feed him incidentally?
Did they sleep unafraid, this mother and babe not needing
to touch each other first for reassurance?