Still Life with Aphids Behind the bean lattice, in the fennel wasteland, Scarred by fire and tokens of household trash, The dirt moat, with pearl tracks of snails interweaved, Where emerald light is suffused by aniseed Among the small tangle of childhood’s minutes. Some treasures, a mouse’s skull, a smooth stone that fell From the moon. My mother moves across the kitchen Window, I am aphid small among the stalks, Afraid of ladybirds. The plants distort the way light falls, the shadows, Fragile structures through lace and frond, Of things best seen, from slits of light through fingers, Embroidery of…