Circles, everywhere

by Sam Sobel

I love the round shapes

that bugs make in chewed leaves,

the symmetry of their feast.

It’s like mealworms know

about the nurture found in loss,

the way librarians punch holes

in index cards for water ice,

or the way kids spin like drunks

searching for dizzy vision.

I look for these small circles

and see them in everything:

in airbrushed haloes

on t-shirts for dead loved ones,

in books about hungry caterpillars,

in the dimes I seem to find

everytime I write about you;

the coin a bug punched out

and deemed ours.