'Etymology' by Amanda Joy

Fairy tales were
what I read before
sleep in her house
From a huge book, left
near the bed

The more people I tell
the more I seem to show

We visit Wave Rock and
Mulka’s Cave with its
handprints and story
of a cross-eyed birth
and devoured children

I want a word
for this place
in my stomach
behind where
tiny feet will press
beneath my ribs

some ganglia, twisted
spaghetti of nerves
apparently

You eat scones with
your parents, at the kiosk
Writhing with baby
frogs, tiny waterholes
pocket the rock

I scoop some out
Smell of dead ones
makes me retch,
alone, I get scared
walk back

Overlooked, the ants
Mulka was left to
once he was speared
to death

Words are words
We leave
with a tshirt

Amanda Joy writes a popular poetry blog called Little Glass Pen.