In My Cocoon a poem by Jane Tawel

In My Cocoon

By Jane Tawel

January 2, 2019

 

In my cocoon

I lie

As yet, unraveled

by the winds and swatters

of the awaiting day.

 

In my cocoon,

I do not need to fly

Into, out of, despite.

My day’s wings are not yet formed

And I can ignore

Pretend

care for

 that

Which is not yet born

In flight.

 

In my cocoon

The creepy caterpillars

Of my nightmares die

And a new body

Full of promise

Chrysalizes

If only while I can still lie

And to self lie

In my imagination and deny-

all.

 

There is nothing scary or sad,

Without a heart or brain,

In my cocoon:

No Pain, No Gain, No Blame;

No feigned vain reigns

Of kings or queens

or me.

And the rain in Spain falls always on the train

Because all the moments

Are all the same

When I am tourist-ing life

Sweetly paralyzed

In a cocoon.

 

In my cocoon

Nothing hurts and

Nothing hurts me

And my pupils

Remain closed

While the pupa of my

Solitary, sedentary self

Undisturb-ed

Dreams.

 

And yet. . .

The waking antennae

Of my soul

Begin to sense that

In my cocoon. . .

 

There is no room for

Laughter

Friendship

Shared meals

Warm Sunshine

Rain

Dry toes

Wet leaves

Cinnamon rolls

Spontaneous Grins

Splashy Puddles

Or

Hope.

 

In my cocoon

I can not hear

The notes and chords

A baby’s bleating cry

The breezes

The pitter-patters

The gurgling waters

Giggling waders

Gorgeous sunset weepers

Or

Love.

 

In my cocoon

I will never, ever, ever

Know

Risk

Understand

Hurt with

Imagine

Create

Touch

Be touched by

Or

Trust.

 

And so

I begin to shed all

That would keep me here

Incomplete again.

I digest the self of yesterday

Willing wings to grow

Though still small and damp

With tomorrow’s fears.

I emerge.

 

Today it is enough for me

To materialize again

Alive

The same,

Yet some one brand new.

 

Today

I’ve never been a butterfly,

But I will learn in this new moment

How to use my wings.

 

And being a slight grey moth

Is enough.

Moths can also fly.

 

And with a small amount of creature luck

tonight there will be

A new cocoon to rest in

To grow in hidden promise

unaware to all

Even to my moth-holed self.

 

And someday

I hope to wake

And find the whole World

Has been cocooning

Until Eden is restored

And Butterflies

rise from their

imagined cocooning graves,

Never to die.

Published by

Jane Tawel

"I'm Nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too?"-- in the words of that now famous "nobody", Emily Dickinson, I am a no one committed to the great Some One and to the idea that words matter. Even words that no one reads or hears, because I also believe that there is One who always hears the truest and deepest desires of the human heart. My own journey in this world often takes the form of seeking those things that matter through exploring the written word in essay and poetry. Even the small and unknown of us are made better through the creative process since we are made in the image of The Creator of All. I am thankful to have a home in this blog to store my thoughts and thankful for any who sit awhile in this blog home, seeking crumbs on their own journeys.

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