Six monarch butterfly cocoons
clinging to the back of your throat—
you could feel their gold wings trembling.
You were alarmed. You felt infested.
In the downstairs bathroom of the family home,
gagging to spit them out—
and a voice saying Don’t, don’t—
— Dana Levin, “Ars Poetica (cocoons),” Wedding Day. (Copper Canyon Press; First Edition edition May 1, 2005)