A butterfly caged is not a butterfly at all

by Jodie Cumming

The frayed cream handset clings to the wall,

Its worn plastic cover exposes the innards of wire.

She cant decide whether she fears more the electric shock

Or the shock of hearing it ring.

 

Around the dull room her eyes clamber, listlessly landing on

the curtains, bemused by their lack of sun; stale.

The sun bemused, banned from entering the room; stalemate.

There is no hope for those who exist in here.

 

Limbs mangled into the bed

Where sheets begin I do not know –

Where my legs end –

Do sheets begin-

What begins-

I do not know.

 

The room is wilderness, endless, scopes in every direction.

Magnolia flower wallpaper glimpses true nature

And I want to peel it off 

Peel, peel, peel it off

And wrap it around my body like a veil

A premature butterfly festering within its cocoon.

 

From outside her cocoon a faint chirping rings, sends

echoes whirring around the hollow room like lost ghosts.

The handset is alive until her ears begin to blister

and her own internal screaming blurs out the noise. 

 

Too hemmed in to fly. 

Too scared to spread her wings.

Destiny showed her a beautiful martyr;

She wept within her cage.