Butterflies
By Holly Day
If caterpillars lived on decaying flesh, infested corpses
built cold-rimmed cocoons inside a dead animal’s rotting ribcage,
would we view the dead with such revulsion, knowing that at any moment
bright-winged butterflies would explode from gaping orifices
the wounds of auto accidents and bullet wounds? What if
it was the most beautiful butterflies and moths that emerged from our dead
clouds of blue morpho, glittering wings as large as your palm,
massive lunar moths, sapphire-tinged swallowtails, maybe some kind of butterfly
we don’t actually have because this, after all, is only conjecture
because when we put our dead away in real life, there are no thoughts of butterflies
there is nothing beautiful or magical ready to burst from the people
we shove into the ground.
Holly Day’s writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, Talking River, and New Plains Review, and her published books include Music Theory for Dummies and Music Composition for Dummies. She currently teaches classes at The Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, Hugo House in Washington, and the Indiana Writers Center.
