Many Legs – Ingrid Bruck
Posted on July 23, 2020 by Mike Maggio
Self-isolating during corona virus, home feels like a trap, a curse not shared by insects. They are not halted by human fear. Not the woolly caterpillar crawling across the driveway. Not the inch worm that pushes and pulls, shoving the length of its middle body, front and back legs heaving a dolly that carries a mountain of self. Not daddy-long-legs, eight legs tickling a path up my bare arm. Not the water spider in a still creek dancing circles on black glass. Not the millipede with a thousand legs that I leave alone because it stings. In the empty driveway, I scoop a rippling stripped furry body into my palm. Just like me sheltering in, the caterpillar’s first action is retreat. He hides—a tight body curl forms a hairy ball. I’ve always liked wooly caterpillars, the kind I’d place on my mother and baby brother. They’d stretch and crawl until I was ordered to take away that caterpillar. I place this one back in the dirt. The long body extends, many legs pump, motion ripples, wavelets flow from head to toe. Whether in lockdown or bed ridden with the virus, human minds dream the freedom of many legs.
locked in the dark
2020 package
of snow peas
© Ingrid Bruck 2020
https://mikemaggio.net/many-legs-ingrid-bruck/
Date Published: July 23, 2020