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