Thursday, December 8, 2011



Does the butterfly remember the caterpillar,
at the moment of emergence from the chrysalis?
Spreading brilliant wings-
I walk around this house, still and cold,
a museum for the dead.
Framed photographs of a young couple,
smiling for the camera, preserved,
I don't recognize her face, my face,
looking like me, frozen in time,
surrounded by souvenirs, mementos,
objects collected on shelves,
collecting dust, my personal effects.
All wrapped in spun, silken thread,
awaiting metamorphosis.
Apparitions stir in the odd corners
as I try to remember the caterpillar.
My wings unfold, test their strength,
the chrysalis discarded,
the sky calls me home,
flapping against the panes of glass.
Now, how do I tell him?
How do I tell him I am leaving?


  1. Oh yes...very well done..a difficult situation expressed with subtlety and delicacy tinged with sorrow. Chapeau!...soar and fly in joy to the heights with my best wishes

  2. wow...first the feeling of the constrain of the chrysalis...and the beating of the windows...nice round about way of getting there too...great stuff...

  3. All I can say is that could be me a year ago. Beautifully thought out and written.

  4. dang...great images in here..beautifully woven...the escape from things that no longer really exist..

  5. A beautiful metaphor to express feelings of broken love.

  6. Oh, wow. This is so well represented. The feelings of loss, conviction and freedom all come through. Very nicely done.