When I was thirty

I once ate the moon
for dinner.

I was a butterfly then,
still half connected to my cocoon,
left wing ripped, hanging
on by its last thread, the other
compensating.

Doctors never cured me,
so I swallowed the craters,
let them seal me
from within.

These days,
people call me eagle.
I’ve tied that thread so tight,
it’s managed to trick
the common eye.

 

 

 

About the Poet:
Kristina England resides in Worcester, Massachusetts.  Her writing has been published in several magazines, including Gargoyle, Muddy River Poetry Review, New Verse News, and Silver Birch Press.  You can follow her work at https://kristinadengland.wordpress.com/

 

Photo by Mystic Art Design.

 

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