Ars Poetica (cocoons)
Six monarch butterfly cocoons clinging to the back of your throat— you could feel their gold wings trembling. You were alarmed. You felt infested. In the downstairs bathroom of the family home, gagging to spit them out— and a voice saying Don’t, don’t—
Credit
Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.
Date Published
01/01/2005