The rains came early this year
drowning my longgans and chilis in April.
And yesterday my little boy came rushing home
balancing an insect carcass on his palm.
He asked me how it died, why.
I knew he deserved the truth
so I told him it probably got tired
of doing and buzzing the same
shit every day.
So it simply chose to die.
He went away after that, sobbing.
Probably regretting his question.
But knowing is a necessary pain.
It forces one to build a roof
over things that could die in the rain.