On the train track walls
across from my house
there are symmetrical black letters.
Evolve Today.
I don’t know what to feel
when I see them.
Don’t know if I should admire
the way they suckle to the wall
like papered monarchs.
Watch as my hands flutter
at each letter.
I wish I could be like him.

I picture him cutting each letter
with an exacto knife.
Drawing every line and crevice,
Evolve Today.
Smiling at his new art like
it means something different.
Each time I see the letters
I stare at the wall,
picture his hooded head,
his butterfly hands
they are steady as he paints.

My hands are always shaking.
On Friday he parks the car in an alley.
Hoods his head,
grabs a can of spray paint.
Evolve Today.
I look down and notice
how my leg is convulsing,
watch as he dances across pavement
coats a dumpster in his art.
My head is turning,
twitching up and down
like spray paint.
I cannot help but think of the consequences.

He gets in the car
tells me it feels good.
I look at the winged paint
on his hands.
Evolve Today.
All I see is evidence.
I sit there wishing I could
hold a can of paint and keep steady.
I sit there wishing that my legs
would stop twitching,
my arms would stop shaking,
my mind would stop cocooning,
that for once I could butterfly like him.

On Monday I go back to school.
Sit in class and think
of his hooded head,
his spread arms,
his steady letters.
I grab a pen out of my bag,
Evolve Today.
Half of a butterfly
papered to the desk.


©DelaneyMiller