Well, if you live in the northeastern United States, you may have met my friends the stink bugs. Like a plague of locusts, they have descended upon us here in Maryland, hundreds and hundreds of little brittle bodies. In their native land I am sure they had a niche and a purpose for being. Here, they have no purpose, no predators, and apparently, no problems with proliferation. Not even the chickens will eat them.
Stink Bugs
Stink bugs are not objects of beauty,
Neither do they smell
Sweet.
If they are generous it may be simply
With their presence—
Over, under, and around my seat.
What their purpose is,
I can’t say,
Not being privy to that information.
But somewhere they had moms that loved them.
Like me, they were made by God.
If I love without condition,
Does that include these bugs?
Anything so numerous must have a reason
For being, besides
Hitching rides on my light.
Daily they remind me–
But what of?
Living in the tropics, one has constant interactions with insects. Relentlessly they penetrate my gardens, screens, repellents, incense, and my skin. I am asking God to love them until I am spiritually mature enough to love them. I thinking I am getting better as I now notice when I kill one that it no longer makes me smile triumphantly. Truly they are a measure of our spiritual progress. Tarantula on the wall above my pillow also showed my spiritual progress…or perhaps lack thereof. Thanks for this poem. fun and thought provoking. hugs, pat