Midges

Liz Kendall

What do midges do? 
What are they for? 
A grainy cloud of sound,
escalating tinnitus - 
why do they love ears so? 

This is how Concorde sounds to the sky.

One midge can make me pull up 
the sheet over my head in summer,
roll down my sleeves, adjust all cuffs.
Postpone Scotland.
A midge in the face is Brief Encounter
with no romance; little black corpse
clinging to tear ducts like mascara dirt.
Reminding me why I don’t wear that stuff. 

Why does it kamikaze in my gaze? 
Never mind that speck, the Bible says,
remove the plank from your own eye.
The fault you see may be the fault you are. 
These days we call it mirroring, or shadow work. 
It’s hard and it keeps coming back, 
that droning inner voice: you haven’t finished yet. 
You’ve barely made a start.

Imperfection. 
Midges come to spoil my summer,
so in winter I can say at least….
Midges are a consolation.

The Science

There are thousands of midge species from several families in the order Diptera. In the UK, the biting midge genus Culicoides (family Ceratopogonidae) transmits bluetongue virus (BTV-3), and midge activity affects Defra’s decision whether to cull infected livestock. In Surrey where I live, clouds of midges hovering over water are food for Daubenton’s bat, along with birds, fish, and aquatic insects. I’m interested in the sensory experience of insects and the reactive emotions they trigger. An unexpected midge in the eye can stop us in our tracks, making us feel vulnerable. A prickle at the wrist or ankle tells us we have been punctured. That something so squishable can access our blood is astonishing, but not uncommon; there are over 150 species of biting midge in the UK.

A tiny midge wields a disproportionate power when it approaches the ear canal and tympanic membrane. There is an uncomfortable intimacy in the experience; all our attention is suddenly in one place. The malleus, incus and stapes bones vibrate at its stimulus; the cochlea and the auditory nerve bellow it to our brain. The midge’s keening sounds more aggressive than a rock concert. Nobody buys a ticket for a midge.

The Poet

Liz Kendall writes poetry and non-fiction prose with an emphasis on the natural world and the arts. Her co-authored book 'Meet Us and Eat Us: Food plants from around the world' celebrates biodiversity in poetry, prose, and fine art photography. Poetry publications include Candlestick Press, The Hedgehog Poetry Press, Flights, Mslexia, Tiny Wren Lit, and Amethyst Review. Find her online at theedgeofthewoods.uk @rowansarered on X / Facebook.

Next poem: Ode to My Iridescence by Marcie Flinchum Atkins