Monday, April 11, 2011

Being Little

Crouched on the sidewalk,
her sundress ruched up
around her waist, bottom lightly 
grazing the cement,
the little girl is
intently studying
a beetle 
strolling the tightrope of
a concrete crack, observing
its struggles over each
mountainous crumb of dirt,
so she sticks a finger
in its path, whereby
the bug obligingly
mounts up by
clinging to the soft folds of
skin as it
cautiously ascends
this new challenge, while
she gleefully giggles and
it tickles its way to her wrist,
inspiring her to squeal and shake it off
marooning the insect
on its back, legs churning furiously
until it flips over
and resumes the pilgrimage
to the grassy forests
of the lawn,
as the child now lies
full length and
face down, nose
almost touching the membranous
forearms as they fearlessly
scale a long green blade,
her breath gently swaying
the slender frond as
the beetle reaches the top
and descends the other side
to her upside down delight
while the oblivious beetle
encounters the next
eminence of a
tan pebble.

(NaPo prompt: write a poem of at least 40 lines that is a single sentence)

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