Size
by Sam M. Phillips

My room is an aircraft hangar,
Full of tiny insects
That makes the small space massive.

They enter through windows and doors,
Hover, glide,
Land, take off.

There are flies like pin heads,
Points of black like dappled ink,
Bigger ones have white or green stripes,
See through wings.

Hard carapace of blue,
Shines like the ocean in sunlight,
I have no idea what you are,
I rush to see you,
You rush away,
Only glimpsed.

Mosquitoes,
Sharp and angular,
Fighter jets on a mission,
They swoop around my head,
Harass me,
Make their attack runs.

Spiders,
Long legs,
Small bodies like dots,
Ground crew,
They hang their apparatus,
Wait,
Seemingly benign,
A place for planes to rest.

Wasps drone,
Sloth-like legs dangle,
Thin and orange,
Beneath a body,
A collection of orange and black balloons,
Shrunk down,
Tied together.

Guided by antennae,
They go behind my bookshelf,
Regurgitate mud,
Build a nest I can hear being made,
A sharp buzz,
But cannot see.

Among the movement,
Among these many busy lives,
I am a giant,
Watching,
Searching for purpose.