Think of all the generations it must have taken
to drag your lousy carcass up here.
What are you doing?
Where do you think you’re going to go?
I almost stepped on you—are you unaware?
I would have, too, had I not been minding my steps,
halfway up a mountain
you’re not supposed to be.
Lying there, motionless,
your tentacles on the alert,
are you waiting for me to pass before you continue?
Why don’t you hurry up?
You belong far below,
along the creeks, among the fungi,
not here,
perched on a high rock in the center of the trail.
Why is your head pointed upwards?
Are you trying to ascend?
You can’t be serious. What folly.
How sad.
And what cruel irony that you’re called leopard.
You don’t even have the same pretty spots.
You’re nothing but a glop of residue.
A leftover of creation.
I once read a boy died
after eating you, on a dare.
—Oops, did I just touch you with my camera?
I should keep my hand from my mouth.
The longer I look,
the more I need to be free of you,
gliding over the terrain,
away from the stink and slime of lowly crawlers.
Descending, I can think again.
How did he get there?
Could it be done in one lifetime?
Or was his the progress of a thousand generations inching their way up?
What’s the point of such a foray?
Why does it carry on,
against all evidence that the size of his undertaking
is beyond reason and purpose?
It might take another generation or two to make summit.
And when they do, what will they get for their efforts?
Dry land and exposure to birds?
An expedient demise?
What does such a creature get
for abandoning the safety of the lowlands,
risking it all for nothing
but to learn what’s on the other side of that rock?
I can think of no reason
other than to communicate:
We can now proceed
with a greater understanding of the threats.
And we can climb,
against our limitations in size and speed,
with no hope to go on forever,
but that someone will pick up where we left off.
— ❧ —
Poetry Inspired by Nature
This was a different kind of poem for me, as I tend towards rhyme and meter. But sometimes a poem comes to you the way it comes. No point in forcing it to be something it doesn’t want to be.
I stumbled upon this Leopard Slug while climbing Mount Willard yesterday, and it was so exposed, so out of place, I couldn’t help but reflect on it. For more poems inspired by nature, head over to In Verse. Happy reading!