Monday, July 11, 2011

Butterfly eggs

In yesterday*s Chicago Tribune I read about a woman who searches parks for monarch butterfly eggs, collects leaves every day to feed the caterpillars, waits until they emerge from their cocoons.  Sometimes it seems we only get to witness small pieces of our daughter growing up.  She*s more of a swallowtail, I think,

Sometimes we see her
Grow up.
Most often she does it
Out of sight
Only to emerge again
A butterfly,
A swallowtail, I think,
Particularly beautiful
With the loopy bit
On the bottom of its wings.
She emerges and dries in the sun,
The yellow and black wing trailers
Make her
Distinctive and identifiable
And yet definitely formed
in secret.

I read about the woman
Who collects butterfly eggs
And brings them home.
She waits for them to hatch,
Feeds the caterpillars from leaves
She collects every day.
She also collects first edition books,
Reads the Torah
While she waits for the butterflies
To emerge from their spun cocoons.
The boy butterflies want to leave
As soon as they emerge.
Apparently the girl butterflies hang around
Nestle in her hair
Until she takes them for a walk.
She watches them go.

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