Caterpillar

As the caterpillar slinks along segment by segment

With tiny purpose-filled steps over the pine needles and shards of broken bottles,

Some arcane chemistry driving it forward,

I think of my baby son inching along vinyl boards towards a fallen blueberry.

In that moment everything rests on the blueberry.

Everything rests on whether he can propel himself quickly enough to reach it before I notice.

After a few hours of desperate imperatives: eat the blueberry, scale the coffee table, drink the milk… he falls asleep.

As I gaze at his placid pond face I recall the caterpillar and its destined final transformation. I wonder, is sleep a chrysalis? Does my son awake from each nap a new baby?