because, I wanted to be Hedgewitch, for one poem.
There is no sight,
no marvel for fingertips
to rival my love, langorous
in her gorgeous silk kimono.
I am perfect for her, because
I am the small white child of parents who could neither fuck nor feed
without the assent and assistance
of a greedy audience.
I devour each tidbit I am given,
from the mulberry leaves in my love's singular garden.
My line is univoltine--
romantics of the most deluded stripe.
Behold me, my love.
I have consumed your casual offerings in their thousands,
and from deep within myself,
can now spin out the most magnificent and coveted stuff.
I will wrap this poem around myself like second skin--
cell memory sings to me of transformative sleep,
but also of the boiling pot.
Now is the time for you to scald me,
devour me in turn;
What sort of sweet grotesquery can it be,
to wear another's work
as one's own beauty?
You must forgive me if there is now a break in my lineage;
I have hidden my cocoon in solitary shadows, where,
though I stir within its walls at your calling,
I am not fool enough to reveal myself.
One day, you will look up to see
dull and gray,
common and beneath regard,
but able to catch the waft from the pretty fan you so desultorily wave,
to rise, departing,
Bombyx mori, the domestic silkworm, is the caterpillar of the domestic silkmoth, which cannot fly, nor feed itself, nor survive outside of human care. When the caterpillars reach the pupa stage, they spin raw silk around themselves to form a cocoon. This cocoon is then boiled in water, and the heat kills the pupa inside, and makes the silk easier to unravel. Pupae dishes may be served and eaten.
univoltine--breeding once yearly
Bombyx mandarina is the wild silkmoth. This unremarkable-looking moth is able to fly and to survive independently.