re- is a patient room
into which I do not
walk, but stumble,
a place that contains
the rumpled, crumbling
dissembling of surety
and surmise. Re-thinking
I unwrap emotions that
I have labeled, lifting
layers of preconception
for another, closer look.
Apprehension morphs
to comprehension
while understanding,
a newborn butterfly
descending from chrysalis,
unfurls her moist wings
in sunshine, to dry slowly,
upon a willing flower...
lucy meskill
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