“Ode to the Caterpillar” Pt. 1
It’s obvious to reference: “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” was a book I read all the time as a child. He ate his way through so many fruits. Even desserts. He grew big. You know what happened next. There were no “What ifs?” A children’s book to its core. I love it for that, and I love the caterpillar. He has no clue what he’s doing! He just eats! In real life, sometimes he gets lost. More often than not, they get lost. I sure believe that. I sure believe it’s the damndest time in his life. Like tripping and falling into nowhere. Into something special. No doubts. No fear. But soon as can be, he’s changed. That’s clear, sincerely. I remember those times, some days I walk through the chaos again. Some days I get scared. Some days I call a friend. It’s only fair to know when you’re half-past gone. But to want things different is to have it all. To want that apple. That pear. That strange orange. Remember: eyes open, look at it kid. I learned that sorry lesson many years ago. Lord knows I’m better for it.
“Ode to the Cocoon” Pt. 2
It’s funny seeing swan boats in a man-made lake. Real geese running around. Turtles that flutter their hands in each other’s faces. You two looked that up online, they’re trying to communicate dominance. That makes you laugh. You come to walk here every day. Do the round and go home. Sometimes you come back if it’s still light out. Think about 5 years ago. Consider where you’ve been. You smile to yourself knowing that you “broke on through.” You fucking tell yourself that at least. You worry you’ll pedal back. Even if you do, you’re gonna coast. You hope to tell others the same. “Break on through,” the Doors had it all in a phrase. That’s impressive. The rest is sad, but you hope for something different. You hope the caterpillar takes to the cocoon. That Humpty Dumpty finds his head. That all the kings men, your father says, get smart and maybe get lost for a while. Like you. You hope that, too. What you dream is that love. What you daydream is a new light shining. Shine so big you make a masterpiece. Shine so big it’s been the “romance of the century.” Shine so big it feels calm. You run at it, you realize it’s gone. Like dawn, it may rise. And never take it for granted if it does, girl, ‘cause that’s a blessing worth a grand. C’mon.
“Ode to the Butterfly” Pt. 3
Somebody’s lookin’ over my shoulder. It’s feeling to be Dr. Thompson. I’m reminding myself of my father. It seems I’ve been “cut right out of his ass,” as our cousin Rog laughingly mused. He says a lot of things, and I listen. I listen to a lot of men who have the hearts and minds of ol’ baroque mystics. These men do so much good and hear so much music. Oh, but they’re human. And they’re funny. Bright too! Failure is nothing but a heartache gone wrong: a well of truth to sort through and make fireworks boom against. To cry over, you wouldn’t guess. To question it all, you’d presume. Laughter is love to their ears as is music to mine. I’m trying to rediscover myself, my own booming laugh. To find it again is the best of conventional medicine. To lose one’s mind, the dearest reason to take the pill, go for a walk, watch the sun rise over Hollywood. Or rather, watch it set, because you never wake up at dawn. Anyone who knows you knows that is a fact. You may stay up to see it, and those are the days of being still and letting go. Your beating heart finding it’s way through a rising sense of chaos. Sleep, take good care, and darlin’ remember: “be still and let the butterfly land.” What a beautiful thing.
Madison Clapp is a writer from Los Angeles, she works freelance in film production, and is a pool shark in the right crowd of people.