Cradled in the silicone tub made of a pair of forgotten scuba goggles
That someone had once tossed away in the air
And that had landed deep in the nest of a flowering bougainvillea,
The scarab tasted the first pangs of his fast
As he watched a grasshopper nibble at the underleaf of a nearby sago palm.
He had no reason to resist all that was edible and nourishing.
For an era he had done as his ancestors did forever,
Approaching the most filthy remnants of refuse left by camels and dogs
With the philosophy of an alchemist: that lead could become gold,
That the discarded had untold worth,
That shit was more than shit.
But one day as he let his tiny feet pierce the fecal mud left by a yellow Nile
He thought that perhaps dealing with such an element was beneath him.
And when a moment later he escaped the falling of the cow’s hoof
Upon his shell, his idea was confirmed. Despite all the humans of old had writ
About the nobility of his kind, he was seized with self-loathing.
How could a race let itself become the poor of the gutters?
How could other races let it fall to such depths?
The scarabs had smiled in the face of misery for eternity
And, save for the occasional passing blessings from a higher power,
Gone unpraised, unloved for all their troubles.
There might be a day, the scarab thought
As he hid in the plastic cave that he had adopted
Whereupon the scarab would rise to become the greatest of beings,
Ascending to the heavens by way of the great Osiris’ willow
Which would reach its tendrils to the ground and allow entry to the sun.
But until that day, in solidarity with this dream
The scarab would refuse to sustain himself.
If the gods knew how desperate he was for the day of ascendance,
They might relent early and let it come to pass the sooner.
If they cared not, he thought, his life was not worth living.
He would sooner die than cater to the animals that served his family
Its living and daily bread with such little respect.
Let myself be a sacrifice, he thought as he wasted
His exoskeleton firm but the meat of his body decaying.
Let the great gods see me as I stand facing the sun,
Let them know that I care for this cause more than I care for myself.
But nothing changed for all his radical thoughts.
The sun merely rose and set; the bougainvillea grew taller and more vast
Almost drawing upon the last strength of the scarab to help it grow
Like a greedy man drinking another man’s licorice tea.
And with its growth, the scuba goggles were pressed
Closer and closer to the bougainvillea’s breast,
Shielding the scarab from Ra.
On the day that the scarab could no longer rise
To look out the branches to see if a new age had dawned
He snarled and buried his head under his paws
And listened to some human’s backyard stereo playing The Rolling Stones
Snarling with grief and regret, he desired to sup, to revoke his sacrifice.
It was only when he closed his eyes and turned against where the sun must shine
That he saw the willow’s branches gently motioning to him from below
Through the cloudy panes of the scuba goggles as they dangled.
With surprise and glee he began to see
That indeed his race was that which was closest to the heavens:
For, to reach the highest tenets of existence
He would have to fall to the lowest ring of hell and climb up from there.
And with a glad smile he let himself sink through the glasslike floor of his coffin
To begin his climb to the sun.
anachronistica
capitalv
keplersmother
pepperlane17
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