Praying mantis hands are like small threads of nerves against the leaves–cold and dewy from the night.

                           The skirt I wear has stripes

                           of red and pink and yellow.

                           My shirt has an apple with a small crunch and a worm.

I imagine the school bus approaching at any moment like a spaceship ready to swallow me.

                           I imagine the other children:

                           glistening under the rising sun.

                           Their sweat is like glitter in the morning light.

I see the porch chair and my mother and brother standing around it like witches prance circular ‘round the fire.

                           I dream I have the clay body of the

                           grasshopper approaching me from the

                           bushes which line the yard.

I dream I am petty and green and poisonous and wonderful. I dream I can fly.

                           He hops one leaf to the next

                           like a frog on a lake. I dream this skirt is a lily pad

                           and he will be handsome after my kiss.

The praying mantis approaches him from behind.

                           His face is small and round and

                           his large eyes are beans–the red kidney beans

                           mother puts in the chili soup. I hear mother’s camera click in the background.

I look at her and see my reflection in the black eye staring me down.

                           I see I am made of clay.

                           I see I am drying in the sun.

                           Black hair frizz flies in the spring wind,

                           brown eyes glint green in the golden light.

I hear the crunch of the praying mantis' teeth on the grasshoppers wings.

                           I see the bite he took from his side.

                           I dream my neck is shaped from

                           two bites in the side of my rectangular body.

                           I dream that each click of the camera is another bite towards death.

The spaceship approaches from the hill and I will be transported to another realm where I am bitten and clay and beautiful and kissing.

                          Where the grasshopper enjoys the bites of the mantis.

                          Where the black lining of my shoes is not leaving lint

                          for the white of my socks. Where the crevices of my body are formed

                          from the swallowing of me.