I want to see a ladybird once

I want to see a ladybird once.

Not in pictures,

not in the soft, polished way

they talk about them.

I want to see it crawl.

Feel the weight of it,

tiny and nothing,

on the back of my hand.

I want to watch it falter,

slip on a wet blade of grass,

the kind of stumble

only I might notice.

I want to see it up close—

its red, not perfect,

its black dots chipped,

its wings trembling

with the strain of flight.

Just once, I want it

to land near me,

a little lost,

like I am.