“I Find It Most Curious,” the Mouse Said of the Butterfly

Day by day
I grow more aware

Tiny miracles(you think I don’t notice them you with your silk and your crafty hands)
but I do.

Good morning, I am your chrysalis
(I know what may lie inside!)

We young and writhing souls
Will be your broken silverdrops and your blue-eyed sailors
Your malachites and your mourning cloaks
Your satyr commas and your shasta blues
No two the same

So I wait(and sometimes you might even call it patiently)
Wanting to become, aching to change

Not and still not there yet

It’s a tiny miracle—all I ask—a tiny miracle to take this flailing caterpillar

And make me a butterfly