Wednesday, April 18, 2012
I can show you in the lab how temperature affects the solubility of a substance.
I can demonstrate why air is considered matter.
But when you ask me,
"Miss K, why do you have all these butterflies around your room?"
I am stopped in my tracks.
Like a clogged drain.
All the words get stuck in my throat
And my brain spins around
off-balance and awkwardly empty.
All I can manage to say
Is something cliche and pre-packaged
About how butterflies first begin their lives
As squishy, wandering caterpillars.
And that likewise, we all go through
To become more capable,
Versions of ourselves.
Except I don't even say it as eloquently as that.
Because I fear your eleven-year-old minds
Won't understand what it means to have
Another version of who you are today.
There is a part of me that wants to say instead,
"Ask me in ten years."
It would be like asking a caterpillar
Why he couldn't stop staring at the butterflies
Above him in the air.
"I don't quite know," he would say.
"But something about them just feels so familiar."
Posted by Leah at 5:42 PM