The Change Part 7: Cocoon Curled in the nautilus of my imagination Foetal yet full grown The time of gestation A holding period Inside fingernail pink The shell walls glow in the sun Inside is a spiral staircase In a library In the fingernail room I lodged in black, waiting. Longing, yearning for the time to be up so I could leave So I can transform like Le Cain’s Cabbage Princess. Back into my real, authentic, true self. At tropical world the cocoons of rare and oversized moths and butterflies hang on a dowel In a humidor They hang, like last years leaves Tatty and brown A crumpled felt hat from the dressing up draw A discarded single brown suede glove from the 1940’s. The humidor has a glass front so I can witness the transformation. Daphne into a laurel tree Princess into a cabbage Well to ill Life to death to death to life. Once I saw the exact moment The moth emerged from its cocoon And fell to the metal mesh floor...