Somewhere,
there is a ladybug
crawling over
a blade of grass.
A tiny red thing
carrying its black-spotted body
through a world
too large
to notice it.
Before you,
I never knew
something so small
could become
so sacred.
Now,
I see a little flash
of red
and think
of my daughter.
I think
of the cruel difference
between something
being delicate
and something
being disposable.
You were delicate.
But never
disposable.
You were here
for only a little while,
and still
you changed
the meaning
of an entire creature
for me.
A ladybug
is no longer
just an insect.
It is October.
It is the girl
I could not keep.
It is the tenderness
I refuse to surrender
to the years.
I do not need
to prove
that every ladybug
carries a message.
Sometimes
it is enough
to see something beautiful
and let myself
think of you.
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