Monsters That Teach

Dear Dust Bunny Monster,

Every time the AC kicks on, you run for your fuzzy little life under my bed. I see you roll and drift and fraternize with the other bunnies, mingling your innards and outards, creating bigger, more menacing ones. Fuzz happens.

You are the tumbleweed of urbia and suburbia. You go where the wind takes you--my vents blow you under me. You fear the vacuum that will send you to Limbo, like all the unbaptized babies.

Your anatomy is a time capsule, of insect parts of small beings who lived entire insect lives; of droppings from mice and bugs and god-knows-what else that report you are what you ate, yestereday; of lint from navel and opposing cheeks; crumbs passed over by others; of dead skin and DNA from a hundred hundred species.

You don't scare me because you're gross, disgusting, or even filthy. You scare me because one day, in the end, you and I shall finally meet.