While I Wake

By Megan Huwa

Glimmer Spiel

         Are

butterflies image

       bearers

          of

       angels

   descending?

And the breeze,

cool on a summer day,

is You whispering,

this is temporal,

this wayfaring

that engulfs

you.

Only Caterpillars Crawl With Singular Aim

each day marked internally by dye

not of their own choosing.

Someday—when,

I do not know—but I will see

life lifted high, this prism butterfly

emerge glorified. And I will see

each glory a wonder of curation,

a flash of dawning,

a new creation.

When Eternity Began

Like after the rainstorm,

when I found a white butterfly

in my jeans pocket

after crawling

through milkweed.

Only looking back

do I live

in such astonishment.

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“Fly, Butterfly,” my mom wrote in a note to me at the onset of my illness. These poems are me taking flight, Mom. 

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Megan Huwa is a poet and writer in San Diego, CA. A rare health condition keeps her from living near her family’s five-generation farm in Colorado, so her poetry reaches for home—both temporal and eternal. Her work has been published in Ekstasis, San Antonio Review, The Midwest Quarterly, LETTERS Journal, and elsewhere, and has been featured on The Habit Podcast, Inkling Creative Strategies, and Fieldmoot. Her website is meganhuwa.com