I finally have an interview, thanks to going out on a limb
to spin a cover letter in my authentic voice for a change.
But my nerves are frayed early in the morning.
I rush out the door balancing things as I spy
a praying mantis completely still on the door.
I jump and apologize to it, making sure the door handle grazes by.
But it is the human who startles me.
An older woman is cleaning her car.
“I hear those things mean something.”
Taking her at her word, I whisk off
eager to take it as a positive omen.
I ignore the dual omens, my own apprehension
as I chase that high, till overwrought
and overwhelmed I realize
praying mantises are signs for stillness and prayer.
But I remember my reply, “Maybe it means
that you have to bite a few heads to get somewhere.”
Maybe even losing my own.

---

Anticipation and Anxiety are joined by an old friend.
I am texting her back when something
hits my temple with a thwack.
I hear it fall to the ground then scream away.
“Dude. I think I just got hit in the head by a cicada.”
Stymied I look for its body.
She chimes back. “EWWW.”
I read that cicadas mistake humans for trees.
While flattered, I’m really not that tall.
“Positive vibes, signs of change and increased luck with the opposite sex.”
Ah yes, distracting the conversation
as if I don’t fear the idea of swift change.
“It means to get laaaid.”
Distract others with jokes to avoid
any probing questions till they get bored.
No, I am happy to play the part of an ignorant fool
so that people don’t notice I’ve changed.
But Mother Nature has noticed
and has started to throw bugs at me instead.

---

It’s a humid morning in church
when an old man cricket walks in.
Spindly legs resemble Victorian canes
as he stands at the end of the vestibule
not long after I scuttled in before
the start of Communion.
Too caught up in my racing thoughts
I nearly scream during the service.
He considers my back seat pew
before settling covertly in the back.
I don’t bother him, after all
it was nearly eleven and already grossly humid.
Why would I deny shelter
for a bug who noticed doors wide,
offering all of creation
a place of comfort, community, and chance to be renewed.
The recessional hymn was brief, prayers finished.
Once again, my animal familiar is gone.

---

She weaves her home onto my car like its her last hope.
Its spun late afternoon, ready to catch and set dinner up by six.
Her web whispers on the gentle evening breeze,
catching bugs, dreams and maybe stars.
A nocturnal orb weaver sounds ethereal.
But in the harsh day, even ethereal bugs
desperately scramble to pitch down
their home precariously on a moving car.
She lives in my side-view mirror much as
I live in the AC of my car.
For a while I don’t pay attention,
too busy to find two radio stations clashing
in a maddening buzz of static,
breaking me out of my own web of confusion.
It’s when I finally pulled around for coffee I realized
that I admire this small creature,
gorgeous striped stockings and heels
that propel this self-determined and
tenacious Charlotte who chose to
spin opportunities around me.

---

I tried to escape into a book today, but nature took notice.
Already regressing into a childish curl,
a little jumping spider tip tapped
into view, jumping from cup to book
before daring to consider a giant’s hand.
No mystery, monster, Fae or angel
could distract me from the sheer
audacity of the smallest thing.
It landed on a finger, harder than it meant
as I felt a curious pinch before it hiked up.
Body hair turned to precarious vines,
and it jumped off reconsidering the task.
Its eyes remained on me as I offered a bookmark
elevator, redirecting it to my other hand.
This time, it was curious and braved
another trek till finally reaching
my shirt, an easier terrain.
I kept wondering as it traveled,
what does it feel like to live in a world
of giants, and does it know that this
giant appreciates its efforts, even the small?
Will this spider ever know that the giant was happy
to be seen by even a spider at all?