• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 04
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I once held the tightly spun
white webbed cocoon of a caterpillar
up to the sunlight and watched
the dark matter inside
writhe and flop about, seemingly at war
with the transformation in progress.

Placing the fragile life form in a jar,
I waited.

I think of this cocoon as I watch your little body
twist and contort into knots on the floor,
tirelessly adding layer upon layer
to that thick outer shell
so no one can reach you.

I wait because I know
there is always a metamorphosis
beneath the surface—
the whole time you exist in that chaotic
state of transformation, you are shedding,
growing, becoming something new entirely—
this time, with grand wide wings
ready to fly.