FORK IN THE ROAD
My bones stand naked in my skin.
Time to metamorphize,
shed my carapace that was worn to transparency
by living, simply living
day by day, minute to minute.
Time for rebirth
as a butterfly or snake,
but which one?
A butterfly carries no trace of its former self,
the worm it once was;
a snake keeps its crawling form,
clearly hinting what it will become,
yet a bigger snake.
Butterflies have wings, are closer to angels;
snakes are more down to earth.
Butterflies are transient beauties,
the proverbial blazing meteor across a night sky.
In the "once upon a time"
one might even have landed on Eve's hair
when her tresses were bedecked with Eden's flowers
as she stood naked in her flesh.
They die, these fluttering angels, after their nuptial flights.
Snakes live through many frosty winters.
They resurrect themselves each spring
and flick out their tongues to taste the air,
find their mates and survive the mating.
Cold blooded, slithering, slow, earthbound, forked tongued,
and craftier than Eve,
I'll be a snake.
Richard Fein
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