By Ella B. Winters
Son Daughter
for Wren
You are changing,
and I’m not really sure
what to do with the parts
you no longer have
a use for.
Thorax crushed,
wings unformed,
without a cocoon
the slimy mess of it
dissolving everything
I knew, right in front of me.
Still, the matter
is the same. The DNA
isn’t altered. Components
rearranged, but the energy
never dies, keeps changing
form: chemical, dynamic,
potential –
So really, you are
multitudes, a sublime
supernova expansion.
I do not know you,
and I know you.
And what a revelation:
the parts you have discarded,
I have no use for, either.
Ella B. Winters (she/they) is a social worker, writer, and migrant, currently living on the South-East coast of England with her partner and a sausage dog. Her work often explores themes of identity and locating yourself in the world. She is currently working on her PhD in Health Science. Follow her on Instagram: @ella.b.winters
A Curious Moon 