by Rosalie Hendon
Your pale speckled body emerges
You perch weightless
on the arching leaves of the purple heart
Mantis and I, taking the air
the September morning on my porch.
The air humid,
the sun just brushing the railing.
You fascinate me
Your praying forearms
Your knobby head, almost feline
The rise and fall of your low belly
Delicate antenna, almost too thin to see
You move slowly, feeling each foothold
Forward and back, forward and back
your body shifts
As if you’re gathering momentum
I sat with you, watched your slow motion
your intentional grace
for 30 minutes,
until the phone rang
and my computer beckoned–
All those emails and meetings
to attend to
As the sun grew low, I came out
to find you on the railing,
three-quarters of a porch away.
Is that how you spent six hours?
If so, I wonder which of us
had the more productive day?
Rosalie Hendon (she/her) is an environmental planner living in Columbus, Ohio. Her work is published in Change Seven, Pollux, Willawaw, Write Launch, and Sad Girls Club, among others. Rosalie is inspired by ecology, relationships, and stories passed down through generations.
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