Bug Hunt: The Bug's Story

October 22, 2008
By Leah Merrill, Anbington, MA

I see cascading curls of wispy, white, angel hair.
The feathery soft blurs backed by waxy droplets of green and fat slices of sky blue heaven.

I scurry away to another cold stone.
Her hunt has begun, this giant angel girl, crouched, waiting; she inspects my next door neighbors.

I hear a mourning dove’s far off coo.
The colossal angel jumps, excited at this newfound natural discovery, temporarily losing interest in my hard, rock cache.

I breathe in the rich scent of dirt.
Holding in this puff of breath, the sunshine is revealed. My cold stone lifted, angel girl shown.

I feel the concentrated breaths from this monster’s mouth.
Angel scented wind, blowing me away, my many legs start to scamper, nowhere for me to go.

What a curious creature, this angel girl I see.
She must think the same of me.

The author's comments:
I wrote this poem for an assignment in my poetry class. We had to choose one work of art or a photograph and pick one specific perspective to write from. I chose a picture I had taken of my three year old niece in which she is hunting for bugs. The picture itself is really just a close up of her face with a hint of the sky in the background. I wrote from the perspective of one of the bugs she searched for.

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