After Winter, by Megan Fernandes
Late September, a chrysalis formed
and all became still. Around me
were drowsy candles in the dark,
lousy aces that came in pairs
like teeth, destined comets, lovers.
Dusk came and brought cool shadows
to the edge of every bar, each door
the dimming surface of a quiet sea.
So I left, or remained too long
beyond myself. I bought two pairs
of jeans and called them brothers,
travelled the world many times
and somehow very little changed
but I blinked and felt the world
might be glancing back. Nightly,
I had dreams of crystalline faces
and watched videos of caterpillars
wriggling beneath a fence, a branch
offering support for their clumsy
bodies transforming – breaking.
I booked judo classes and split
the paper husks of onions
with diced garlic, red chillies
smashed like rubies in the sink.
Maybe I’m like this in Autumn.
I gather armour, guard myself
against those gloaming months
when everything is polymer,
perfect against the gathering cold.
But look within. Our imaginal discs
might bloom a thousand silhouettes,
many rivers leading us back
Always to our crumpled forms,
our bright and quickening wings.
