But Be Transformed

A tadpole becomes a frog. A caterpillar: butterfly,
moth. The body becomes more when we let it.
When we’re not afraid. But does the butterfly

dream of bark against her torso, does she miss
the security of land? In the dark, when the flies
are asleep and the night has stopped buzzing,

does the frog dive under the lily pads, does he try
to swim without legs?

I paint my nails blue and wish for days
when dark nails meant demons.

I sip dark liquor and wonder what I’m opening
my body to. God, so preoccupied
with my nails and skirt length, distracted from

my prayers, eyebrows raised at my piercings—
what should I become for you?

Aline Mello is a Brazilian writer and editor living in Atlanta. She is an Undocupoet fellow and her work has been published or is upcoming in The New Republic, Atlanta Review, Grist, and elsewhere.