Metamorphoses

Love gradually disintegrates over time.

 Metamorphoses

by Gail Alexander

"I love you," you told me again and again.

I knew deep in my heart we were not made for each other.

"But I love you," you persisted.

I thought your love was all I needed.

Oh, my heart, how I wish I had heeded you.                              

 

Over time something insidious grew between us.

A little green caterpillar hatched from a tiny red egg.

We could barely feel its presence.

It was only a momentary foreboding.

 

The tiny caterpillar grew larger and larger,

feeding on our doubts, our failings, our animosities.

It grew into a fat green monster, red horns giving out a foul smell

that only our souls could sense.

 

One day it magically transformed into a dull black chrysalis.

That was a time of peacefulness, the danger had passed.

 

Then the chrysalis became translucent, and the vague fears

returned, but just below our consciousness.

The chrysalis spit and a beautiful red and black butterfly emerged.

It spread its shiny, wet wings to dry in the heat of our anger.

Finally, it took flight and fluttered around us,

drinking the nectar of our love.

When we were like wilted flowers in the heat,

it flew upward toward the approaching thunderclouds,                             

and with it went our love.