Pink pearlescent cateye glasses
brought my second grade world into focus.
My waist-long braids were recently cropped
to a more manageable length, but a cowlick
still influenced rebellious bangs.
Baby teeth gave way to huge replacements,
their odd angles foreshadowing
That summer I gathered backyard caterpillars
stuffing them into pickle-scented jars.
Fuelled by daily rations of leaves
larvae spun cocoons.
Before long, silken walls thinned,
revealing chrysalises folded inside –
a yellow and black swallowtail;
an orange-purple harvester; or a Southern
pearly eye, dusty white.
After emergence, the butterflies would
spread creased, damp-looking wings,
then flap them slowly, preparing for flight.
I would unscrew nailed-holed jar lids
and let the beautiful, fragile creatures free.
I was still a caterpillar.