Colors On A Butterfly's Wing Poem by Patti Masterman

It's an untaught art and solo maneuver
Time elapsed auto ejection,
Parachuting us upwards:
Everyone on the planet knows how to die.
The breathing slows down, in opposition
To childbirth's heavy panting,
The lovers ragged gasping.
Like trained sprinters, we know by instinct
When to slow the pulse
Like yogis on the nail bed
When to stop moving, stop reacting
Our irises, black camera shutters opening
On that other vista as, newly born
We unfurl at the other end
Of the silver cord
Unfettered there
No longer dashing our foot
Casting off the old receptacle
We stretch, push and pull ourselves into
Previously exotic dimensions.
Everyone knows instinctively
How to slip out the birth canal
And how to slip the bands of body.
In our genetic makeup lies the DNA
For all the colors on a butterflies wing
And perhaps for the secret of flight
Once we leave the chrysalis behind.