Tortoiseshells (Poetry)

As a child I speculated about death —
took it seriously, curiously
turned the concept over in my mind
and examined every angle
like it was an option — something
I might try as an alternative
to life’s unhappiness.

It didn’t seem too frightening —
this sudden change of direction
I had already witnessed transformation
and drawn parallels —
watched small deaths that proved to be
no more than a long still sleep —
a time of waiting, growing wings.

When they emerged — so fragile and so perfect
they seemed like spirit creatures
at ease with themselves — released
from the smallness of previous existence —
its dull limitations —
the shadow of every disillusion
shucked off — escaped.

I flew with them, briefly
experienced the weightless sense
of resurrection — threading air
with exhilaration —
their summer was forever
in my eyes — an unsaid promise
of better things to come.