Inchworm

I was out in my back yard, wearing my leather jacket—it was coldish—and there this inching thing, this little green crawly, bunching itself up and unbunching, scrunching and unscrunching, propelling itself, propelling, propelling. Just a little thing it was, just a little inch-long critter pulsing ahead, steadfast, speeding over my shoulder to far-off lands.

Here is my own tiny tiny, my own itty bitty, my own little pulsing, offered to the women of 27 Powers.