house of franks

last summer the apartment swam
with house centipedes. their feathery legs
carrying them like bird fragments 
across the ceiling & walls.
we named all of them "frank" for 
a reason i can't remember. there are
a few people who have called me "frank."
it is exciting to tell someone your name
& have them use it. i was trying out
names. i was asking 
how do i trust myself to know
what i should be called?
benny tells me i don't seem
like a "frank" & i wonder if there are
inherent qualities to names.
no-- more like if there's something 
a name gives you.
what did we give the centipedes? 
i'm sad to report i killed a few of them.
some out of fear & others more shamefully
out of anger. this was my rooms 
what right did they have scouring them?
i would tell benny i killed
a frank or there's another dead frank
on the bathroom wall & she & i
would gather together to stare 
at it's mangled shape. it's crooked thin legs
& distorted body. i'd take a lysol wipe
to remove the body & i'd feel guilty 
for hours. did the frank have baby franks
who were waiting for his return?
the last time people called me "frank"
was a barrista job. i had a nametag.
i'd sit on my breaks & stare at the tag 
clipped to my green apron. it's job 
was to make me into a frank. am i still
a frank? could i be one again? autumn came
& it tookthe franks with it. winter came
to harvest their ghosts. now it is april
& the bugs are coming alive. i am still
a frank in some corner of my body
& there will be more centipedes soon.
i tell myself i will become 
a more peaceful person this year & that 
i will try not to kill them when they arrive
with their speedy legs & near translucent forms.
picture me, holding one up by its leg
& looking right through it like a blurry 
pane of glass before releasing it
to the cool stone alley.