Chrysalis by Beverley Sylvester
People are messy like unformed caterpillar goo.
Chrysalis
The caterpillar liquefies before it becomes the butterfly but retains its memories. We don't know why. By we I mean science. By science I mean a map of time and inches. Once upon a time I thought my parents were made of silk and fire. Once upon a time I realized they were people. It is hard to learn the complications of personhood, to learn no one is perfect, to learn that before we can grow we must wrap ourselves into darkness and dissolve. People are messy like unformed caterpillar goo. People turn opinions into deals into stone monuments to tiny gods of right and wrong. People turn ideals into a game of checkers: straight lines, boxes, kings, winners. Gray is harder but truer. Maybe there aren't monsters in the dark, in the closet, under the bed. I think that darkness can live outside the monsters. I think the bogeyman is an influencer. I wish there were a ratio of pain and joy that equaled art. It's a fool's wish, and it is scared of grayness. Sometimes I cry without knowing why, and I don't know if that's better than walls of thick skin. I envy the cynics their simple perspective. I don't envy the cynics. Perhaps the world is uglier than when we were children. Caterpillar protein soup is ugly. But have you ever seen a butterfly?
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First published in Yellow Arrow Journal (Vol. X, No. 1, Spring 2025). Reprinted with permission of the author.
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Dripping with metaphor I like it. The caterpillar image ties the piece together. Poetic yet grounded. I'd love to see you take it further leaning harder into the grayness theme or even twist that butterfly ending to make it as unsettling as it is beautiful. Please keep writing and exploring your gift.
Beautiful