On my day set aside for art,
I painted the pearl crescent butterfly.
I chose the male,
not because I’m a misogynist,
but its colors are brighter,
more tailored to my palette.
The one in my in-box
was perfectly put together,
with an alert head,
eager antennae,
and shapely wings,
an inch wide.
A coat of orange
was followed by
a distinct black border
and an array of dark dots
in perfect patterns.
and a gentle dabbing of its head case.
It hummed in my hand
as I let it dry.
Then I opened my palm
and it flew off toward the light.
Of course, this doesn’t sit well
with my father.
The old man makes
huge, rumbling dinosaurs.
— ANDREJ BILOVSKY
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