When stopped mid-step
I notice a tick
as it starts its climb
a quiet walk,
one leg the lead,
a graceful beat,
stretches out
to gingerly place it,
followed in turn
by each foot.
I think of a model,
bedazzled in bling
cello hums as she glides,
down the runway
wearing Vuitton
and perhaps
pink heels.
She raises her foot,
lifts then places
the other in front,
confident
as a mountain goat
in cloven shoes
balanced, assured
as she scans
the open cliff,
wild winds whirl
around her,
shout cat calls
across her path.
My trespasser
bridges her path
sans cloven hoof
or pointed clackers,
hers a soft soled,
timid jazz shuffle
or perhaps
on ballet toes,
a prima donna
performing solo.
Destiny calls me,
not someone
ready to smack,
for after I muse
I flick her off,
then mademoiselle
pirouettes
on a sudden breeze
already eying
a distant knee.
Holly Dunlea is an eclectic writer who loves to experiment with form and word usage. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies as well as Literary Hatchet, Crosswinds Poetry Journal, DASH and previous Raven’s Perch Editions. She also is a 2021 winner of the Katharine Lee Bates Poetry Contest.
This is the first poem I’ve read where a tick, normally vile to me, takes center stage. I enjoyed your sharp, concise lines and the surprising, imaginative comparisons to a model, a goat, and a dancer. The rhythm and imagery brought an unexpected elegance to an unsettling subject.
II really enjoyed how the form reflects the short small steps of its miniscule subject. It begins so quickly with the tick, then drifts into wonderful imagery that delights.