Praying Mantis

Praying Mantis

No insect is holier than the praying mantis,
Perched on twig or bark, going undetected
In the light and dark

I met her as an innocent child, cupped and held
Her between my hands, later kept her as a pet,
Confined in a jar, a hideous nightmare she would

Seem, shrouded in darkness on my bedroom shelf.
Curiously now she staggers for balance swaying like a
drunkard would with arms outstretched in narrow

Alleys between tall walls.  On dew glistened azalea
leaves where she gathers small pearls on the steak
knife like serrations of her arms

She cleans herself, cat fashioned in sunlight.  I am fixated with the view of what I behold and become mesmerized in the verdant green, looking again to find she has gone.