Monarch Days

 

Karen Hawkins

University of British Columbia

 

 

Photo credits—Janet Elliott

When I was a child I searched

The wild fields by the side of the dirt road

That wound its rutted way through cow pastures

Past summer days of

Dust and heat and grass

Spent hours looking for milkweeds

Home to the exquisite yellow, black and white striped creatures

That dined exclusively on the sticky bitter milk of their leaves

Spent more hours watching them patiently chew

Those summer days away

 

Before the winds picked up the nose-biting chill of fall

Or more than a hint of the impossible brilliance to come

Had painted its way onto the trees along the fence row

I knew summer was cresting

When the striped pyjamas disappeared and in their stead,

If you were very lucky,

You’d find the waxy caves of impossibly delicate green

Crowned with impossibly tiny nuggets of finest gold

In which my summer fellows laid themselves down

 

I’d visit my waxen treasures

Watch as they slowly lost their opalescence

Turned dark and faintly sinister

Hinted at something mysterious and painful and beautiful

Tried to catch the moment when the protective shell

Could no longer hold the transformation it had nurtured

Became too sheer, too brittle, insufficient

 

When curiosity got the best of those who watched and those who waited

And something new, something blackly velvet, still packed tight

Would pull itself into the world again, wetly vulnerable

Inflate tightly wadded wings with sour blood no bird would taste

Hold them up to the world unfurled to harden into windsails

And launch themselves into that world

Colour the air with rhythmic strokes of black veined orange

 

Was one of those strong beats, delicate though it seemed,

The last gust of air needed to fuel a hurricane somewhere?

 

They stayed long enough to gather strength

Before beating their way to Southern coasts

To winter in other summer lands

Fulfilling their turn of the generational spiral

Making trees heavy with the accumulation of their light wings

Leaving me to watch as gold and crimson stained the world

As milkpods burst and downy parachutes scattered seeds to the wind

 

In a red sweater, with snowflake pattern

I’d visit the scene of next year’s drama

Find hints of discarded wrappings

Shredded under leaves, now withering too

In preparation for a winter’s respite

Knowing school was around the corner

And that it would be the interlude until the next time

Summer filled the world with

Monarch days

 

 

About the Author

 

Karen Hawkins is a graduate student with the University of British Columbia's Centre for the Study of Curriculum and Instruction. Following undergraduate work at Queen's University, Karen taught English, Drama, Math and Science in Ontario schools before moving to Vancouver and taking a post with the B.C. School Trustees Association. She is currently the Senior Director, Board Development for the Association.