A Bubble

Tick

A bubble on my ankle, slightly red, hard to see.
Itchy. Soft and squishy.
Immediately I think it’s gotta be a tick
Engorged and floppy, ready to be picked.
Or a worm, burrowed, safe and warm,
or spider eggs buried against the bone.
Yesterday spent in grass and weeds,
immersed in brush and under trees.
Just as likely, it’s poison ivy.
A gentle squeeze, it bursts, it rips,
it oozes, drips. The itching spreads,
my hands, my head,
Each blemish poked,
prodded, checked.
A bump sits below my neck, raw and sore,
is it a freckle? Something more?
My bubble drains. It’s damp and yellow;
it dyes my skin a jaundiced stain.
Nothing seems to be alive,
creeping, spreading, threatening
my life, my thoughts, my brain.

20 thoughts on “A Bubble

  1. Oh my gosh, since I have started hitting the trails I have left with my share of ticks. When I see one, I feel like there are at least ten on me I do not see. That totally messes with my brain. Then, the other day sitting watching Declan swim, a wasp got me on the bottom of my thigh. It hurt so bad – but – I had to act cool and all. But that darn experience has haunted me. I can’t sit still and am on constant vigilance. I can so relate to this one!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I pretty much never get ticks. It amazes me. There’s a part of the battlefield I run across with tall grass that brushes up as high as my shirt. I never find any ticks after that. Sophie and Susan hiked it recently and they were plucking off ticks for hours. I haven’t been stung in a few years so it’s sort of out of my mind what it’s like. The last time was eight stings though. I’ve met my quota for a few years.

      Liked by 1 person

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