When I come upon the grasshopper
on the porch, he lies nose down,
silent, looking not like a body
so much as some great damage,
like a car wreck. But I know
it wasn’t an accident. Deciding
it needed to be done was the hard part.
He thought about it for a long time.
He loved his leg. But it was broken
and how could he grow another
until he got rid of the first?
One morning, he felt a tickle
he knew might be the new leg
trying to sprout. Carefully, he
pulled out of his long grief
and took the first bite.