(Poem 112 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

A caterpillar is scooting along,
minding her own business,
munching on leaves and
feeling the cool breeze,
when she suddenly has a thought;
“What if I could fly away?”
All her life she’s crawled along,
inched on her belly,
viewed the world from below.
How does she even begin
to imagine the possibility of flight,
envision a different future
than the one she has always known?
A gentle gnawing that begins
in her belly and slowly creeps
its way incrementally to the tip of
consciousness tells her to
cocoon herself in safety,
wall herself away from the scary
change that will come if she
lets herself dream too big.
And there she remains,
turning in on herself,
visualizing a new way of being,
letting the idea of a new reality
wash through her like
rain and pain, and the strain
of the old self transforming
becomes nearly unbearable.
That is when the miracle happens…
new life unfurls,
wings stretch heavenward,
there is an impulse to leap,
to flap, to throw fear to the sky,
and become who she is meant to be.

Runner ups for the caterpillar lightbulb photos to accompany my poem: