Holometabolous, Mandira Pattnaik
my sixteen pairs of twins
are upon the acacia branches
unfed, unclean
wrapped in muslin, mummified bodies
talking to themselves of trespassing
our neighbor’s bodies,
stealthily, at the point unguarded,
and then,
living pupal lives
unadorned, rudimentary,
until the
folds come off
and like extracted dividends,
or bridges between here and tomorrow
carry them
to the future of our species.
I’ll probably only flip the yellowing pages, turn them over,
in my garden of weeds,
for I may die accused of sorcery, but
I loathe repeating mistakes.
***
Mandira Pattnaik's recent poems have appeared in Prime Number Magazine, Not Very Quiet, West Trestle Review, Variant Lit, Feral Poetry, Thimble Lit and Eclectica Magazine. She also writes fiction and essays. Find her on Twitter @MandiraPattnaik