Since that first morning when I crawled br into the world, a naked grubby thing, br and found the world unkind, br my dearest faith has been that this br is but a trial: I shall be changed. br In my imaginings I have already spent br my brooding winter underground, br unfolded silky powdered wings, and climbed br into the air, free as a puff of cloud br to sail over the steaming fields, br alighting anywhere I pleased, br thrusting into deep tubular flowers. br br It is not so: there may be nectar br in those cups, but not for me. br All day, all night, I carry on my back br embedded in my flesh, two rows br of little white cocoons, br so neatly stacked br they look like eggs in a crate. br And I am eaten half away. br br If I can gather strength enough br I'll try to burrow under a stone br and spin myself a purse br in which to sleep away the cold; br though when the sun kisses the earth br again, I know I won't be there. br Instead, out of my chrysalis br will break, like robbers from a tomb, br a swarm of parasitic flies, br leaving my wasted husk behind. br br Sir, you with the red snippers br in your hand, hovering over me, br casting your shadow, I greet you, br whether you come as an angel of death br or of mercy.