Catching Myself
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
Lately I have been thinking
When I was young I would
Buy butterfly nets, or make them,
And then go chasing after those delicate,
Powder-winged beings.
I swooped my net down,
Across, zig zag—anything to
Snatch a butterfly in midflight,
And when I captured one,
As gently as I could, I removed it
From the net, held it cupped in my hands,
Felt it tickling my palms
With fear-filled wings,
Examined its face, legs, and abdomen—
Resisting the traumatized impulse
To dog-ear its wings,
And then I would let it go
Like I was offering it to the world,
Like I was doing something kind,
Like I had every right to disturb
The life and heartbeat of these most
Cosmological beings, and then,
I would look at my hands
And see stains of pigment
Smudged on my palms—
It made me feel guilty,
It made me feel cruel,
And it made me feel like,
Just once, I had some form
Of beauty glittering inside me
as I fluttered into the waiting, stormy sky.
