Peggy Hale Bilbro
One Square Inch
On a hot summer night, in this city of two million people who all sleep with their windows open and arms flung out to the heat, I am on the eighth floor of my apartment building, completely swaddled in the sheets, with only one square inch of skin exposed to the night air, which the mosquito—bypassing all those two million other opportunities—zooms in on. I guess that makes me the chosen one.
forbidden fruit
sampled in haste
all the sweeter
About the Author
Peggy Hale Bilbro and her husband divide their time between Huntsville, Alabama, and Guardia Sanframondi, Italy. Her poetry reflects her life-long interest in the large and small miracles of the world, from dust bunnies to stardust, from mouse holes to black holes. She finds pleasure in the creative challenge of translating those miracles into poetry.