Wish Upon a Buggy

Flailing in a bucket of water

And first is Fear, ripe in my chest, tight

For as long as I can remember

Then, Guilt for my Fear.

Guilt for my convenient choice of vessel,

For poorer creatures lost at the bottom,

Having only sought reprieve from the heat

So even as I cussed,

I took a nearby cup and scooped her up

Deposited her on a warm patch of concrete,

Water spilled around her as sure as blood

I worried I was too late. Guilty

But soon her wings spread wide to the sun

The droplets slipping off,

Even as she shivered and twitched

As she rose, I backed away. Afraid.

Would she know my blame,

For her suffering,

And her sisters I have slain before? Guilty.

No. Of course not.

It is no Concern to her.

She is alive and well,

and she cannot be Angry nor even Grateful

But I am. Grateful

For her to fly under another day's sun

And that despite my Fear,