// edit. thanks to Catherine for the insight.
Wing and Thorax in a Borrowed Cubicle
Day One
She keeps a dead butterfly
in a clear plastic coffin. Cotton,
flattened, lines its bed. I look away,
think it moved a wing.
Day Two
Pick it up; lift it closer to my eye.
It is orange, specked white at the wing tip,
the shade of rotting pumpkins on porch steps.
Antennae absent. Missing proboscis.
But its eye is there, stares back
aflame, a carved jack-o-lantern
and asks me what I’m looking at.
Turn it over. Underneath is a crack
in the plastic and a sticker holding
it together saying “TAIWAN
AL AT URA,” the cotton inside
like caged clouds in a storm.
Day Three
I open the coffin. The cotton clouds puff.
Put it to my nose, but it does not rot.
Put a forefinger on the forewing and
a thumb on the hindwing. Wings are
soft as air, but I press too hard and
crack its thorax in half. I feel it in
my own gut, like the rip of flesh from
a fresh suture, the wound still alive and
I panic close the coffin too quickly
pinching a corner wing, ripping cells, scales,
but leave it be because mama
always said never to touch open wounds, so
I pretend I didn’t see it flutter a wing.
This week at Poetry Thursday, we were asked to find inspiration from something that caught our attention in a room we spent the most time in. I've been sitting at my coworker's desk, (because she's away on vacation) and there really is a dead butterfly next to her monitor. It has been fluttering in my thoughts since Friday morning, between Excel spreadsheets and episodes of Grey's Anatomy, that I keep imagining it's alive and trying to get out. I know that by telling you this, it sounds like I'm not sober at work, but all I drink here is Hazelnut coffee. Really.
Dead things just activate my imagination.
If you want to read more poetry, not inspired by dead animals or hallucinations from a girl in corporate america, flutter to Poetry Thursday.
Labels: Poetry, Writing Prompts
13 Comments:
Well, your imagination must certainly liven up your workdays! I enjoyed this poem, though I wondered about the setting - thought it might be a child collecting dead things until I read your explanation
Death is just giving order to chaos... but what would your coworker say!
Cheers
Glenn
Well, the poem is so good I'd cheer for the "dead things" that inspire you- but that just seems kind of icky.
The approach over a period of three days is highly symbolic. It reminds me of when I examine myself in the mirror and don't even recognize that it is me staring back. Not until your probe the foreign wound do you feel the twinge of pain in yourself and recognize that its been you all along. Amazing. Until healing begins, we're all apparently dead butterflies in a clear box.
Fantastic Poem!!!
The way you described the events over the timespan of the poem was direct yet delicate. It is almost as if your curiosity was an indication of your empathy
This poem is so lovely and rich, both in language and emotion. I especially love the embarrassment in the end, of having broken it, adn shuffling it back inside hoping no one saw us, or that the thing itself didnt' notice we had injured it. I love that so much, can imagine so many times when stuff like that has happened.
And, my favorite word thing: cotton/coffin. Almost every time I read either of those words, I would accidentally read one in place of the other, and vice versa. And it worked, moving the sort of creepiness of the "story" along.
Great poem!
I don't know if I can find the words to say how much I loved this poem. The chronology, the reverent treatment of the corpse, the language - it's all just so beautiful. You were truly inspired.
I always love your poems..I can alwasy identify with the things you observe..esp thinking you saw the butterfly move, totally something I would do..:)..m
I like the way you focus on the small things.
Wonderful poem, Michelle; very detailed.
I'm glad I checked out your poem today. I'm limited in my ability to comment on all of these poets. I call my 23yr old daughter Chelle and it caught my eye. I loved your poem and the way you are so detailed in your imagery. Well done!
b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l!
I love it!!! There seems to be so many metaphors in this poem, I wonder if you’ve been doing a little covert journaling through your poetry! Mama always said never to touch open wounds” wonderful! Really great poem…..!!!
Very rich!
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