I want to be an inchworm, to
crinkle my whole body together
just to move, to accordion myself
just to move. Inch inch.
I want to be that green thread
thinner than a grain of rice
and not much longer. I want the
balance to scrunch just to move,
to arch just to move. Inch inch.
I want to eat my body weight
in leafy cuticle, to have a
never-ending supply of food, if
only I can get to it, if only I
can fold myself in two just to move,
to touch my ends together just to
move. Inch inch.
I want the rain to wash me away
drop by drop, to carry me away
from all I know so I have to
double over just to move, to loop
my whole body just to move. Inch inch.
What a fascinating poem this is. I have never considered taking on the aspect and experiences of an inch worm.
One thing that strikes me is how much activity you have for this little animal that moves such small distances. Crinkling, moving, balancing, arching — you even created a colorful verb with “accordian” (which I really like). It’s a surprise for me, but it’s a good paradox. It makes me think of time and others’ experiences in a new way.