by Linda Fuller

Claire likes to blow
spiders in their webs
watch their jitterbug legs
dance songs of apprehension.

She stirs up rubble
anthills devolve into sand
and egg-bearing tribes
scuttle the next generation.

She rolls up sowbugs
into organic ball bearings
sniffs the essence left
by bees in blossoms.

Claire studies the intersection
of her pedestrian self
with the insect spectrum
and finds herself bedazzled.


Posted on 06/08/2010
Copyright © 2022 Linda Fuller

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/20/13 at 01:59 PM

not to use the word or render it lightly, Linda, but this poem of yours, is simply Brilliant and subtle and better at whispering than are willows.

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