mantis

dried corn husks scritch
in the morning breeze.
a praying mantis
settles on a box elder leaf,
the delicate lilt of a water skip
on a pond.
a grasshopper struggles,
goes still,
a morning meal.

I’m back
in my granddad’s den,
six years old.
bath robe open,
the roped belt hung from its loops.
cowboys and Indians
on my pajamas locked in combat.

click click click of typewriter keys
the only sound as
sunlight climbs my granddad’s shoulder.
the rolling cylinder,
metal arms
that rise and fall,
black letters
on a stark white page.

I hold the cup
of hot chocolate against my chest.
my granddad stops.
his huge fingers hover
over the black round keys

mantis-like
ready to pounce.