Monday, April 15, 2013


Before I was five, I was a butterfly--

to the best of my recollection. 

When I was twelve, I stood very still by the honeybush, 

waiting for butterflies to land in my hair. 

When they did, luck was with me

and I swam faster than my best friend

who had her own swimming pool. 

She'd capture butterflies and kill them with shellac

spray. Once, a dead fritillary flapped again, 

startling us. At six, I used to wait for caterpillars

(one lived in the dollhouse I kept on the patio)

to shape shift, sleeping and rolling over and over

in its tight bed. The bed I sleep on now is narrow for two

and some nights I remember being a butterfly

while the human beside me wrestles in his sleep--

and I wonder, what is he becoming? And then

I wonder, where did my wings take their leave? 

No comments:

Post a Comment