Sacred Scarab

Virginia Starrett




I came upon this beetle,
dead, a spot of brilliant
chromium green hunched on
spindley legs against
a concrete slab.
Banded in dusty gold,
close-held wings stilled,
it rocked
in the morning breeze.
I leaned down,
mesmerized,
straining
to hear whispers
of hidden eternities
when two skittery ants
began dragging away the
sun dried hulk
as their own.