Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to support@standmagazine.org

This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Marina Sanchez Lepidoptera
Lepidoptera

By day, each drab wing holds a small eye,
a black pupil within.

Its body lay preserved,
deep inside a pillow case.

Through the magnifying glass,
the frayed edge of one wing,

a glimmer of cream, along the other.
One antenna.

I scroll through images
of common varieties:

Cinnabar, Hummingbird, Elephant Hawk-moth.
But mine does not appear anywhere.

Though I change the bed most weeks,
I don’t know how long it’s been there.

I’ve heard that souls return as butterflies,
and that moths are the bearers of knowledge.        

At night, its wings reveal
an ivory eye within golden scales.



This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to support@standmagazine.org
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