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  house of 
 
 
  gi Igamesh 
 
 
                Christie             Taylor 
 
 
At the butterfly garden, vines and waterfalls, verdant 
A wet- hontr thnt- 'inL i-hrniiorh tr wintepr en~itq 
 
 
Like grief. The docents guide us along maze paths, 
Past blue wings and gold, owls' eyes flashing 
On the frailest of dry leaves. No touching, 
They say. Two monarchs dance among the lilies 
Coy as windblown candle flames. She'll never 
Lay the eggs, we're told, no milkweed awaits them. 
She'll soak them back into her womb like sugar, 
And eventually die lovely, float on her back 
In the pool like a crumpled orange petal. No 
Caterpillars will chew apart this perfect green fog. 
 
 
At the exit, we check in a mirror for strays. Shrug                   Samantha
Gray, Dainftr Landscape II, oil on canvas 
Rainbows of gauze, feathery legs from our shoulders and spines. 
Outside, snow melts steaming on the windowpanes, 
Each flake flailing against the glass like a lacewing. 
 
 
L ite r at ur e 
 
 
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