Do you remember the Monarchs?

“Our friends say it’s always darkest before the sun rises, we’re pretty sure they’re all wrong.” — The Mountain Goats

                        I lay on my bed listening to
The Mountain Goats sing No Children. Except Darnell never
opens his mouth, no,
                        it’s the crowd alone that sings this one.
As they sing, the sea of people, a Greek chorus, I think of her,
            the Monarch.

I caught her when I was barely four or five,
I was small, and her smaller. I somehow managed to catch her;
somehow managed to box in a miracle, somehow smuggled hope
                        into the house with my bare hands.
            I opened the container she was held in for just
            a few seconds.

I had pet her wings so softly, gently
            So that only the barest hint of her scales shed
            onto my fingertips.
She flew out of the box and towards the ceiling then.
            She sat just long enough for me to gaze
                                                                                    in awe.
                        In just seconds we opened all the doors in the house,
            and kept the cat away from her as she made
                        her break for the border of the house and
            towards the southern US border to roost among
her own.

All these years later just for me to find out we
have wiped out ninety percent of them, the Monarchs.

                                                            And as I hear the crowd sing
                                                                        “You are coming down with me
                                                                                                hand in unlovable hand--”
                        I can’t help but wonder if she knew that day,
                                    with those compound eyes staring at me,
                                                that she cursed me to know that
sometimes miracles are not always profound, not always immortal. Sometimes, they’re
fragile
Sometimes when they disappear,
you disappear with them.

Irving Benitez (he/him) is a trans, queer, multi-disabled poet, writer, performer, and podcaster from North East Ohio. He has been published in VoidspaceZine, The Bitchin' Kitsch, and Ghost City Review. He hopes you enjoy his work. You can find Irving everywhere online under either @Jellyfishlines or @Sea_Minor_ on Twitter and at Bluesky @jellyfishlines.bsky.social and @seaminor.bsky.social.