“The Ladybug” by Kalina Mishev

Today I talked to God again,
While standing on an ashtray.
From a lifetime of observing men,
I’ve taught myself to pray.

I said to God, was this your plan?
(Resolving to be direct)
Was I to be an insect
Or was I to be a man?

In truth, I don’t suppose
That I am anything at all.
I don’t feel that much different
From the ash on which I crawl.

No, I am less. The ash concerned
Was once a green tobacco leaf.
I have not been burned or spurned,
Nor felt the cold black hand of grief.

I do not know ecstacy or hope or even fear.  
I shiver and grow frigid
Behind this misty gray veneer,
And I cannot decipher why I am even here.

I have no family to grow,
No kernels yet to sow,
How can I be something
When I have nothing to forego?

Behind me, now, the sound of wings,
In the corner of my eye…
Out of the empty wind, he springs –
A purple dragonfly!

He studies me carefully,
And in his eye…myself I see.
A whisper sounds to flee the scene,
But my dear God, it’s gone, it’s drowned.

Look at my eyes,
Big and black,
No one told me
They shine like that…

Dragonfly, how close you’ve come,
Come a little closer still…
I’ve never seen myself before,
Let me look a minute more. 

Kalina Mishev is an aspiring poet and writer living in Brooklyn, New York. She received her Certificate in Creative Writing from the University of Texas at Austin in 2021 and is working on her first poetry collection.