Lara Torrance, Untitled
Photography and collage
Blister of peace, June brings
death in the garden—fat figs
bursting their skins. Feasting
beetles buzz loudly, dumb
& ecstatic before
the scythe appears—
iridescent shells of July
flap bold & hungry,
careening into exuberant rot
—turn
of the season. Exoskeletons
expire all around me, clumps
of insects gorging, falling
from their morgue of trees,
dimming jade in streaks of light
Dying seasons should not
be so beautiful—
carcasses
glimmer in emerald flame
& something remains in husks
of bugs, hailstorm of leg,
feelers discarded
on wood and dirt—something
resists capture, herald
of the inevitable
fresh from purgatory
—I
drift down
toward whatever magnificence
reveals itself next
slow burn of summer landing
crown of jewels upon the earth