From Re-Origin of Species. Published by Book*hug in 2019.

It could be your mother. Could be the toilet seat
in fifth grade, or wearing your swimsuit all that
sunny day. It could be the fish you ate that swallowed
the worm, or microplastics. It could be that bad pair
of shoes. Herpes zoster, or Herpes simplex, or
cytomegalovirus. Inherited DDT, Fukushima radiation,
copper poisoning, dental amalgams, or chemical injury.
It could be your personality. Your father’s silence,
the year your sister would not eat. It could be that time
you were rejected from art school and lost your virginity
after eating bad shrimp. Could be disappointment,
multiple sclerosis, or rheumatoid arthritis. Your malaria
treatment in a clinic with no running water, parasites,
or your tendency to complain. It could be PTSD, or
blood cancer. The tests came back fine. Celiac disease,
arrhythmia, or your refusal to think positively.
It could be the tick that bit your areola, like you
were at a party in Montreal. It could be the wolves
they shot, the deer that overbred, until Lyme disease
went viral. It could be pollution, or loneliness.
Or maybe bacteria. It could all be your fault.