the lepidopterist

By Brooklynn Singleton

my brown wings spread battered and torn pinned under the metal rods missing three legs i am face to face with him the lepidopterist in a way, i am a piece of him an extension of him and his beliefs of how butterflies should look and act and speak i do not meet his expectations we both know this but he still examines and critiques after two decades, i am unchangeable then he brings another one another one!

am i not enough for him? she is identical to me the same chocolate wings the same black fur we do not share the same tears and aches she is younger she has not been in the world long he handles her delicately careful as to not harm her he sets her beside me unpinned unharmed he gently strokes her wing with his pinky i am still pinned day after day she is nourished encouraged she flourishes he pokes and prods and pinches me in the same breath that he calls her his beauty he calls me his beast he tells me i do not know how to be a butterfly how should i expect more when i provide less than her in his eyes, i won’t amount to what the new butterfly is how am i different than her? how is she more deserving? i have been here day after day allowing him to kill me slowly for his enjoyment trying to repay the debt of life i owe him i want nothing more than to leave this place crawl away with what little i have left maybe my wings will heal over time and i will fly far away but deep down i know it doesn’t matter if he unpins me it doesn’t matter if i fly 3,000 miles away it doesn’t matter if i find a new group of butterflies to take care of me it doesn’t matter if i stay with another lepidopterist i will always be stuck under those cold metal rods