The walking
stick picks
its way
upside down
along the
underside
of the meadow’s
flowering surface —
goldenrod,
asters,
snakeroot —
a stem
among stems,
stalking just
the right
leaf. When
it reaches
a gap
in the canopy,
it stops
to sway —
a rhythmic
rocking. Then
one spined
twig reaches
for the nearest
likely toehold
& the rest
of it follows,
stretched like
the shadow
of a tree
in winter
across
the glaring
moment of
the sky.
Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
I like this a lot, Dave. The sparseness suits it. And those last few terse lines! Wow.
I love it.
stretched like
the shadow
of a tree
in winter
across
the glaring
moment of
the sky.
Yes, I like the end particularly. Very nice!
Wonderful poem about my favorite insect.
“one spined/ twig reaches”
The shape and pacing of the poem is so much like their measured movements. Well done. Makes me see a critter I haven’t in too long.
Yes, wonderful ending. New Caledonia has provided some great stick-insect encounters.
mmm lovely