Metamorphosis: 1680

                     I paint flowers decorated with caterpillars.
                     I want to inquire into everything that exists and find
                     out how it began.
                                           —Maria Sibylla Merian
 
                                From basil, the scorpion.
                                           —Athanasius Kircher    
              
 
From pine tree resin, amber.
          From fury, hail.
From acacia’s sap, the bond.
          From raindrops, frogs.
From clay, yellow ochre.
          From dust, fleas.
From the beetle, carmine.
          From mud, the beetle.
From the murex snail, violet.
          From sea foam, the anchovy.
From the lamb, parchment.
          From the bull, the bee.
What?
          From the mouth of a slaughtered bull,
          cloaked in thyme and serpyllium,
          the bee.
From the sable, the brush tip.
          From books, the moth.
From the eagle, swan, crow, lark,
the diminishing quills.
          From fire, red snow and the west wind,
          the worm.
From the worm, the silk moth.
          From vapor, the silk moth.
What? From the spun cocoon, the silk moth.
          Yes. From steam and bluster,
          the silk moth.
From the silk moth’s mouth,
the potentate’s cloak.
          From the potentate’s horse,
          the hornet.
Credit

Copyright © 2017 by Linda Bierds. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 25, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem
“Like many people in this tumultuous time in our nation, I question the origins of the chaos we’re suffering. I imagined an ‘origins dialogue’—art and artlessness, reason and reflex—and this poem is the result.”
—Linda Bierds