If my mother were an insect,
She would be a moth.
Locked behind the window screen,
Fluttering past the crack she came through.
If I were an insect,
I would be starved caterpillar.
Too busy with Alice to worry—
Too busy to eat.
If my cat were an insect,
He would be a spider.
Which isn’t really an insect,
And that fits him fine.
If my lover were an insect,
He would be a Praying Mantis.
But lucky for him,
I’m a caterpillar.
About the Creator
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More stories from Ashleigh Walker and writers in Poets and other communities.
Homecoming
When I was a kid and storms woke the family, Mom would come into my room with a lit candelabrum to watch the sky with me. It was only fitting that lightening would dance for her funeral. The heat storm scared away most of the family and friends, but me and a few others stood around the hole in the ground. My mother wasn’t Catholic, but was close friends with Father Welch, so he spoke today in full regalia. My grandmother, a proud Protestant, would have rolled in her grave, if she had one. Father Welch finished his prayer and the crowd dispersed. He came over to me and clapped his fat hand on my shoulder. His grim demeanor looked wrong on a face cut with laugh lines.
By Ashleigh Walker7 years ago in Families
Descent
“60 seconds.” Aris tightened her grip on the overhead handhold. The troop transport shook like a leaf in a windstorm as it battled through the atmosphere. Dim lights flickered on and off as the ship’s systems were battered by pelting rain and narrowly dodged blasts from laser cannons on the surface of the planet.
By M. A. Mehan 7 days ago in Fiction
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