Poetry
by Agnieszka Filipek
My father had a collection
of butterflies. First he put
the pin into the thorax, then
on the edges of the wings
and dried each butterfly
in the sun on a piece
of styrofoam. His favourite
was Polyommatus Icarus. One
summer I coloured my hair
blue and became the butterfly
caught in his jar. The lid is closed
on me tightly, a few tiny holes
letting the air in. I’m waiting for
him to straighten me with tweezers
and pin me through the heart.
Appeared in Issue Spring '24
Nationality: Polish
First Language(s): Polish
Second Language(s):
English
Stadt Graz Kultur
Listen to Agnieszka Filipek reading "Butterfly".
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