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Cecropia Caterpillar My Neighbor, the Entomologist, Gave Me
I put it in a plastic bag, I fill with my poetic breath,
put a knot at the top, and hang from a tool shed rafter.
I bring the creature silver maple leaves to eat, so
(like an emerald accordion that nature plays from stretch
to scrunch) it can hump along each leaf edge,
powerful mandibles dwindling thin provisions down
to lacy arrangements of veins and central stem.
Two ravenous months later, when Chapter 1 of its life
is about to end, it turns into a sanguine seamstress
stitching a silky shroud to pull over the body.
If all goes well, the old self will go molten—
cold heat, dark light, an almost radioactive half-life energy
is required to reshape itself into a colorful glamorous fluttering—
Drum roll.
Curtain up.
Stage lights,
Theatrical premier for this
Cecropia diva in eye-catching
kimono emerging triumphant
from the wings.
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