molt #1

by mickharris

trundle in the dying sun split crack

explosion of hard

carapace

crack

the armor rends

the legs stop

crack

the tail curls

crack

the claws dig for purchase

crack

 

the sun falls sullen and red and the burrow stirs,

the others come out and stretch their claws

forward, test the sand

crack

the little one stays where it is, behind as they scramble forward

legs picking up setting down in opposite time

soldiers

crack

the little one huddles

feels wind inside the edges of what was

immortal before.

 

Something new

Milky brown

Wet but drying

In the silk slipstream desert wind

One claw stretches forward, waving

Then dips

A gavel

On the sand.

 

The others move away into the evening, swaying,

Struggling up eddies new from the day bake

And whistling air.

The little one

Curls its tail tighter,

The sting clacks against its hard dendrite self.

 

It hunches and waits

For the rifts

For the mucus to slip and pool

While its brothers and sisters shiver off into the night.

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