Nineteen

 

It came in slight, like the breath of a dragonfly resting atop a blade of freshly cut grass

 

It surveyed its land and decided this was a fine place to lay claim

 

It was subtle and stealth and unwavering and determined

 

Like a pioneer

 

Then it planted itself in undesirable places

 

Wherever it dared

 

Like a game of chance

 

It spread like peanut butter on a fresh wedge of bread

 

And offered itself to a hungry child

 

Faces hid in the daylight and prayed after dark

 

Chapped hands folded in desperation

 

And here and there

 

It remains

 

Even after months of back and forth

 

Ignorant of an expiration date

 

Clinging 

 

Burrowing

 

Waiting

 

Laying waste

 

But like the subtle breath of a dragonfly on a hot summer day

 

It will simply cease to be

 

In time

 

And maybe

 

Hopefully

 

In time