the blood on the bed sheets &
watching ourselves become butterflies 
in the mirror--

in first grade we learned how to be beautiful.
who better to teach us than the butterflies--
& what is a butterfly but a packet of seeds
in the bottom of a glass box--
this is our first strip show-- watch 
the ladies pull their bodies free 
of chrysalis-- of fish net-- of white stocking--
blood on wing on bed-sheets--
before we saw them in blood we had taken
the time to learn  
how they spoke--
listened from the edge of their terrarium-- 
taught them ABCs & the song we sung to remember 
the multiples of 9-- 
9, 18, 27, 36 
36 goldfish crackers on desk--
27 cupcakes for my summer birthday--
no-- yes-- it's not july--
18 little boys & girls to wait in 
line for a mirror in the bathroom--
9 mornings of remembering how
to build a cat's cradle to turn to liquid inside--
puncture wrists like Caprison--
no this was before i knew why 
the butterflies were bleeding --
we believed 
in caterpillars-- 
their skin was our own--
un-fucked & smelling like suntan lotion--
this is before we knew our
own veins were full of sugar--
the caterpillars loved like us with 
Marconi mandibles-- mischievous
feet & eyes that blink at glass mirrors--
we saw through our own faces & onward
into purple glue stick
-- into a broken crayon horizon
april knew how to feed us with
sun in the window & green leaves
gnawed bare by anxious jaws-- it didn't
take long for the class to discover they
were ugly-- the caterpillars 
were ugly
we were ugly-- the sandbox & the
playdough fingers were all ugly--
what was it they were trying
to teach us with little bodies in jars?--
watch the insect grow to hate
itself so much that it resolved 
to never look the same in a mirror--
bathroom mirrors
were we wrote our names with foam soap-- 
sat on a window ledge to grind leaves
with our baby teeth--
how many quarters are you worth
beneath a pillow?
what was it that i learned for the 
other side of the strip show--
this butterfly burlesque of blood
maybe mrs kenney wanted
to teach her girls what it felt
like to watch each other undress
-- watch each other bleed--
this is the art of sympathy--
but don't touch them-- they can
do it on their own--
taught us to dry wet wings--
trade mouths for siphons--  
despite all efforts the 
boys never comprehended how
to hold a butterfly without crushing it--
so i remembered now that 
when you're body grows long
& full of leaves it is time
to package yourself to be re-sold--
liquefy to sell your mouth-- when you
wake up it doesn't matter whether or
not your legs are the same-- your mind
was a chrysalis that chanted
goddess goddess goddess
take away my mouth-- these legs 
i walk like a plague--i want people
to mistake me for a brush stroke--
laugh about my escape from Eden--
call me the temptress of an april 
gust of wind-- taste poison in skin-- 
& that's what the blood on
the bed sheets is for--
never trust a boy to watch 
the butterflies undress-- he's impatient--
to this day i can trace my face in foam 
on the bathroom mirror--
pierce morning through my ears
like Caprison-- 
each day i feel more like a monarch--
liquefy sleep 
see you on the other side
of the glass--