An Infestation

It must mean something,

these three inchworms materializing

just as we talk about  the shifts under your feet

ducking between the brambles of

oh what should I do?

and these little lime bodies

so translucent and sweet

like the uncurling sprouts from the damp soil mounds

waving little messages on my shoulders

hanging from the tips of my hair

while you wait for what I think

I believe in something I need not specify

as they bend and unbend their nymph forms like a nod

The next day the mailbox is sealed in their webbing

they dangle from the dogwoods, swaying like lanterns

the kids trap them in jars

we are dusting them from our clothes

picking them off each others’ backs

these cankerworms

biting holes in the brand new petals

spinning through some cycle of their own

but even as novelty gives way to nuisance

there is surely still an answer

in their sticky, hatching abundance.