by Mary E. Lowd
I feel like I’ve been moving backward
Through all the liminal spaces
I’ve passed through before
Returning to the places
That formed me
And becoming
Unformed
Once again
Perhaps like a butterfly?
Leaving its chrysalis—
A place it entered without knowing
How much the glass walls of that cage
Could change her
While trapped inside
Will I have wings now?
Maybe, finally, I can fly