We went to the park a lot. Once he held
a finger out to me and a lady
beetle crawled from his fingertip to mine.
I didn’t think anything of it. There
were always lady beetles in the play-
ground and as a child I passed them around
like wishes.
I wasn’t a child anymore. And that
lady beetle, I didn’t realise
how heavy it could be.
My heart might be smaller than I thought.
That day at the park, I was so happy—
it was so new, a second sun in my heart.
Only the world can be heavier than
this. I think this must be how Atlas felt
but I’m only holding my own heart.
If I could hide it under the wings of
a lady beetle and pass it over
I would.
I know it’s not Atlas. This isn’t a
world-feeling. It’s only a little feeling,
as small as the lady beetle that crawled
from the grass to his finger to me.
Let go. Let go. Put the lady
beetle back in the grass. Watch it disappear.
It’s okay. It’s not the world. Another
sun will rise.
I’m glad we met. I’m glad our fingers touched
for a little while.
Written by. Angela Derain
Painting by. Robert Julian Onderdonk (Bluebonnets at Late Afternoon, near La Grange, 1918)
Angela is an arts student who spends her time alternately crying over five-hundred-year-old paintings on the other side of the world and avoiding meeting new people, and then writing about meeting new people when she does. Her writing features in Jacaranda Journal. She is also one half of The Lovers Literary Journal, where she can be unabashedly in love with love.
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