being a caterpillar was great.
i don’t know; i liked the view,
seeing everything up close, you know.
not bad. not bad at all.
though i’m glad i survived -
those pesky birds and lizards,
i all green was a juicy looking snack to them.
i’ve lain in my chrysalis for weeks:
mmm, like another gestation,
another safety, another sleep.
oh deep and wonderful,
dark and lovely,
luxurious, in fact.
i dream of sky, sky, sky,
regretting i’d not noticed its hue before:
the sky, for me, seems green, but i know
it should be blue.
problem is,
i don’t know blue,
have never been on intimate terms with
blue.
oh – oh dear, and now my brown homey roof is
cracking something out of my back is
too large! i have
grown, oh oh dear, my my somethings
hurt and i i i
Wings.
I spread them achingly.
(Oh it hurts.)
Antennae, proboscus:
new limbs sprouted and
long, elegant legs.
I lie panting, as after
birth or orgasm or nearly drowning.
I open my compound eye:
The pain is breathtaking.
Everything has changed.
The sky, the sky:
I am intoxicated
the beauty makes me ache
like rebirth did.
I fly
