Country Visitor

You were still here when I came home
from the textile meeting where I saw
a woman wearing a raw silk shawl
lacy like your wings, woven flax
camouflaged against my cream walls.

As you creep up my white bathroom tiles
waving your long thread-like feeler
seeking sustenance, your delicate structure
elliptical body and finely ribbed wings
are captured in miniature silhouette.

I wonder where you come from
west of here? Among the wild grasses
the wheat, the maize and the corn
you’d be invisible, with your country
colouring, clothed in that leafy camisole.

This morning in the shower you nearly drowned.
Watch out! A little silver shiver, we trembled
at your fragility. Drought-driven seawards
you and your family, naturally decorative,
grace my walls like tiny hangings.

The rain has come, you could go home.
How to escape? Stay you must. Trapped.
I will keep you company. You’re not quite
a grasshopper, not a moth, certainly
not a beetle, nor any ordinary flying insect.

© Sue Ogle