Public Republic

Kerana Angelova

Photo: HaPe_Gera

Caterpillars wriggle
And creep fluffily
It’s difficult to believe
Their mother is the butterfly
With oriental eyes
Her wings made of ashes and beams of light
Her flight above oval meadows
As aslant as the dance of souls
Butterflies have such a lot of
Sky to fly

And
What a lot of names, my God, butterfly-like

Catocala
The Sky Bluish
The Fiery
The Lemony
The Big Crescent
Apollo’s Butterfly
Mourning Cloak
The Peacock
The Sooty-Wing
The Velvety

None of the caterpillars
Has its own name.

Translated by Zhivka Ivanova