Round and glossed
red cocoon
careful when you
slice it open
for the wings,
pale and wet,
are thin and curl
against the newfound cold.

Black lace antenna
unfurl and stretch
sensing the air eagerly
the flutterbug tries to fly
as the caterpillar watches
from your knife
and wonders
how long until those
pale wings begin to rot.

By A. S. Ford

A. S. Ford grew up in a small village within Buckinghamshire. Since moving to Cirencester three years ago she has completed a Creative Writing degree at the University of Gloucestershire and has poems published in The Dawntreader and The Copperfield Review. She lives with her fiancé, their pack of dogs, and pet rat.

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