The Forum Prize
Spring 2006
Carol G. Furtwangler

Cocoon

A caterpillar inches along.
A dogwood branch does not quiver,
still asleep in the morning breeze.

I cannot find you in your present form.
Too much of your gleeful spirit
disappeared when you were fifteen and a half.

Resentment rises like the humid wind
before a hurricane.
This coast alarms me.

All childhood ended that summer.
All adulthood so far cannot bubble up
through layers oozing medications.

Higher Powers gave us one last baby.
Thinking you a butterfly,
we raised you on live superworms.
  
Milk turns sour in my breasts.


Milk turns sour in my breasts.

We raise you on live superworms,
thinking you a butterfly.
Higher Powers gave us one last baby.

Through layers oozing medications,
all adulthood so far cannot bubble up.
All childhood ended that summer.

This coast alarms me
before a hurricane.
Resentment rises like the humid wind.

Disappeared when you turned fifteen and a half
Too much of your gleeful spirit.
I cannot find you in your present form.

Still asleep in the morning breeze,
a dogwood branch does not quiver.
A caterpillar inches along.
©2006 Carol G. Furtwangler