For years I was mistaken—they were house centipedes—
same house I suppose as sparrow and finch—
not in fact silverfish—whose image I abhorred.
They were house centipedes—not silverfish—I met first
in that common basement—horror then and again
each visit of those legs upon my life. Crawling
revelation. When I cursed silverfish,
dashing from under ignored laundry, centipede
heard my cry. One shot out from fridge’s bottom
scaled chair leg, faster than time, little ship
of a hundred parts, gliding at warp, and I wanted
the wrong thing dead. A million impossible motions. Feather-
light, I’d hardly have known if it crept across my skin.
I was wrong the whole time. It wasn’t that I didn’t fear you—
I feared you and I didn’t know your name.
mace dent johnson
mace dent johnson is a poet from Columbus, Georgia. They received an MFA in Poetry from Washington University in St. Louis. They are a fellow of The Poetry Project, Cave Canem, Bread Loaf, and The Watering Hole. mace lives in Brooklyn, and also works in essay, theater, and collage.
