Caterpillar Baby

The sun shines bright on the graveyard.

People shift

In their dark, dark clothes

Uncomfortable in the heat.

I stare at the

Tiny white casket

No larger

Than a shoebox.

A butterfly rests on the surface

Yellow wings

Breathing

Open and closed.

The baby had died inside his mother.

Never breathed

Never saw

Never cried.

He stayed his whole life

Inside a cocoon;

Now he’ll never see

The sky.

I look at the ground,

Focusing on the

Leaf green caterpillar

Crawling along

Oblivious.

The baby rests

In his little white box

And all that I can

Think is

“He never even

Got

His wings.”