Wooly Bear Caterpillar

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I’ve come to lie
my head again in your lap
this Wooly Bear morning:
Frost in the air,
the sky unbelievably blue,
the leaves red-orange.

I reach down and touch
The softness of the caterpillar’s
black and brown bands.
She quickly springs into a ball—
so strong, so resilient:

Strong enough to survive
90 below zero in arctic winters,
spinning a cocoon
and then in spring
turning into a Golden Isabella moth.

This strength is something
to take home with us
and rid our toxic relationships,
disregarding them like clothing
we let drop around our ankles
and step away from
with a new nakedness,

ready to start building
new cocoons that turn us
into golden moths.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

8 responses to “Wooly Bear Caterpillar

  1. Reblogged this on Ben Naga and commented:

    Never forget Ethel
    Although I don’t command
    Of course you are in charge
    Just a suggestion then

  2. Thank you I think. Thanks for reblogging. Ethel

  3. eremophila

    Most wonderful Ethel. Nature has the lessons for us and you to translate.

  4. A delightful poem, Ethel. I love the metaphor, the idea of dropping toxic relationships around our ankles and stepping out of them. And of course those last three lines. Thank you, I always enjoy your poems!

  5. OwnShadow

    This is an excellent poem. I love the idea of finding hope and new life in Nature.

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