To an Elephant Hawk Moth (Poetry)

Green-brown and finger-length, you wormed along —
I never dreamed the moth you would become —
that hook on your last segment like a thorn
that served no purpose — a redundant horn
and painted eye spots — huge — that couldn’t see —
you were an odd, intriguing mystery.

I kept you in a jar — you seemed to sulk —
shrunk back into your rubbery soft bulk
twitching as you peeled elastic skin
and showed another self, still wet, within
then, as I watched, this fragile casing dried
translucent — a pulse fluttering inside.

For weeks you slept — I feared you might be dead
until the day you writhed and deftly shed
your paper shroud — climbed up to hang and dry
those wings, tight-folded — pumped them fit to fly —
a vibrant creature now in contrast to
that fat, unlovely grub I briefly knew.