Member-only story
The Butterfly Woman
A poem
I watched as beautiful women strode past me
glorious in their butterfly wings
their vibrant finery.
I at once celebrated them and drew back from their brightness.
Looking down, I searched for my own wings.
Turning in circles I couldn’t catch a glimpse.
I closed my eyes against the world,
I got quiet,
I could feel them.
I listen to the words of another
one who is further down the path,
diapause, she whispers,
you are suspended in time, she says, just lying dormant, waiting.
I roll her words around my mind,
voluptuous words, teasing,
hinting at something just out of reach.
I enjoy their flavor.
Ahhh, here, here is where I have longed to be.
Here is the description of me,
this place, this unique moment… diapause.
The wings are here,
tightly curled against my body
every element present, every preparation made,
all is in place, all is ready
I’m just waiting for the temperature to change.
