by Suzanne Katanic
5 min read

The caterpillars come to teach me again.
Their cycle: five days. For me: years.
I am liquefied by this grief, held in a chrysalis spun from times gone by,
a web of memories binding me tight in its silken grip.
I wiggle and resist, longing for the days I was free
to roam the branches of my youth.
Now they visit me like words written by someone else.

The caterpillars come, and they teach me still:
accept each stage, meet it with an exuberance for life
that hums out into the world with each vibration —
letting go of past lives, greeting the present with a presence I crave.

My dear Sissy, a beautiful caterpillar in her own right —
her wings are as breathtaking as her time is brief.
I ache for more. There are never enough days once they are gone.

There are never enough days.

So I wait, swaddled in grief, for my chrysalis to open,
to release me into whatever comes next.
I surrender to the liquefaction of my old ways;
they do not belong here.
And so, I wait for the sun to break into this dark cocoon
and for my new wings to emerge.

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