I see no purpose in stepping on that small black bug,
rambling intentionally along the ground,
right in the path of my normal stride.

So I extend my step, even throwing myself
a bit off balance to preserve its trajectory.

I have likewise, just this morning,
gently removed two tiny centipedes
from the windowsill area in the spare room.

I realize these are old windows
with ill-fitting screens, so they could
easily have wandered in through
that open doorway.

But again, I gently gather them into a tissue
and usher them outside, releasing the captives
onto the grass to continue along their way.

If you’ve ever had a centipede bite,
apparently they are quite painful.

Potential pain does not deter me from preserving life.

Though in more than twenty years of living in Hawaiʻi,
I’ve never been bitten.

If I kill one,
or a hundred,
is that going to appreciably lessen
their numbers here on these islands?

Then memory recalls wolves. Bison. Mountain lions.
All residents of the planet we are meant to share.

I cannot so easily dismiss the lives of others,
simply because our paths have crossed.