If I curled up into a cocoon of my own, would I reappear as something new and beautiful by Shayna Prace

If I curled up into a cocoon of my own, would I reappear as something new and beautiful
Shayna Prace

If I curled up into a cocoon of my own, would I reappear as something new and beautiful?

Caterpillars don’t realize how nice they have
it.

I drank my coffee on my porch this morning accompanied
only by the rising sun and a caterpillar resting on the
railing. I don’t recall seeing one since the fourth grade,
when we’d race to see who could find the most in the
grass.

I wish I could spin myself a hiding place and let
nature make me beautiful.

But humans don’t have that luxury.

When I try to mimic this, my cocoon is made of
sheets and blankets. When I emerge, I have no wings
and no new image. Instead, a neglect of what I need
to make myself grow.

My voicemail box fills up again. Flowers in mason jars dry
out on my desk because I ignore even the simplest
responsibilities.

Do caterpillars know that beauty is on the
other side of the cocoon? I ponder this as my
body succumbs to sleep.


Shayna Prace is a senior English major, a coffee addict, and a self-proclaimed Harry Potter geek.

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