The paper-thin wings that boat past
Are the breadth of a hand, but cupped
to cradle the body like a head on a pillow
The butterfly swims like a silk nightgown on a stream
and catches onto a spine of grass;
wings lever apart, and together, and apart,
as constant and unnoticed as the breath
A magpie’s carol detonates the stillness and
sends wings scattering silently, like
a candle flame being whisked away
If I were a butterfly, I would not pollinate blindly.
I wouldn’t bejewel my antennae with pollen,
Where is safe, after all, when the yellow fist above
is a thousand times the size of your imagination,
when a crow’s beak could use your body as a sheath?
I watch the butterfly with the same painful
optimism with which I recall dreams,
wearing them like scarves before
wakefulness comes, and with it the cold
Nicola Frassetto is in their first semester of a Bachelor of Fine Arts majoring in Creative Writing. As you’d probably expect they love writing fiction and will read almost any genre, and are developing their interest in poetry. They are also passionate about film and television and enjoy writing film reviews!