Becoming
Remember the frog pond next to the library,
how we gathered tadpoles in a cup,
released them, watched them swim
back up creek, so curious we were
about the act of becoming.
Imagine transforming from egg
to small being with tail and legs,
releasing your new tail to become
your newest version of self
at the edge of the creek.
Tadpoles detect favorable
conditions for their
metamorphosis,
when to allow gills to
morph into lungs.
It happened to us once too--
egg met sperm and they decided
to tango in your mother’s womb,
releasing a fertile sac of cells
that evolved into you!
Imagine caterpillar gorging,
molting, shedding layers —not knowing---
dissolving, unrecognizable
during the act of becoming--not a trace
of grace and elegance in the goo.
Joy Harjo says we’re in this place,
of not knowing, becoming mush.
Let’s succumb wholly to chrysalis,
shed layers in sacral becoming
Alchemize dark spots
on our hearts, feel pulse
transmuting from tight bud
to light rosy bloom.
What if cocooning
meant returning to womb
of Great Mother, bathing
in sweet remembering
of Divine coursing in our veins,
lines of time dissolving
into supple sinews.
What if everything breaks down and
we become imaginal cells
infused with love,
inscribed with one natural law--
how to live & thrive with all?
Wouldn’t we awaken as
resplendent butterflies?
Like Morphos refracting
iridescence, fractals of light,
true celestial hues.
Imagine if we could regain
our scents of native rivers
running through us anew,
like salmon always knowing
where to find their sweet water.
Wouldn’t it be glorious to
awake with no fear or hate,
no swords or grudges to bear,
no shrouded ones to bury,
just arms open wide to receive
children needing tender care.
We are imaginal beings,
capable of choosing
our next evolution.
So, why not choose
a radical, fierce love
Revolution?
We’ll dream a luscious dream
passion scented as liminal larval
dissolution strips away ugly residues
of greed, fear, rapacious skies…
Allowing for emergence of truer hues,
almost unrecognizable and new,
beings immersed in syrupy re-knowing,
cosmic soup of re-membering
until at last,
We emerge--ravishing--
fully embodied in
our new supple bodies,
shimmering,
dripping in
translucent
honey.
Marie Boucher is Assistant Professor & Program Head for English for Academic and Professional Purposes at the Middlebury Institute of International Studies at Monterey.
She co-leads the annual International Poetry Week and monthly International Poetry Gatherings in Monterey. She has read at multiple venues in Monterey Bay, San Francisco, Fresno, and Santa Cruz. Marie has published in the Porter Gulch Review, Monterey Poetry Review, Solo Novo, Poet’s Choice. Marie is the Editor-in-Chief for Doves Born of Flames: Poems of Peace from Many Lands, a multilingual anthology slated for publication and her own collection Becoming River (2025).
Remember the frog pond next to the library,
how we gathered tadpoles in a cup,
released them, watched them swim
back up creek, so curious we were
about the act of becoming.
Imagine transforming from egg
to small being with tail and legs,
releasing your new tail to become
your newest version of self
at the edge of the creek.
Tadpoles detect favorable
conditions for their
metamorphosis,
when to allow gills to
morph into lungs.
It happened to us once too--
egg met sperm and they decided
to tango in your mother’s womb,
releasing a fertile sac of cells
that evolved into you!
Imagine caterpillar gorging,
molting, shedding layers —not knowing---
dissolving, unrecognizable
during the act of becoming--not a trace
of grace and elegance in the goo.
Joy Harjo says we’re in this place,
of not knowing, becoming mush.
Let’s succumb wholly to chrysalis,
shed layers in sacral becoming
Alchemize dark spots
on our hearts, feel pulse
transmuting from tight bud
to light rosy bloom.
What if cocooning
meant returning to womb
of Great Mother, bathing
in sweet remembering
of Divine coursing in our veins,
lines of time dissolving
into supple sinews.
What if everything breaks down and
we become imaginal cells
infused with love,
inscribed with one natural law--
how to live & thrive with all?
Wouldn’t we awaken as
resplendent butterflies?
Like Morphos refracting
iridescence, fractals of light,
true celestial hues.
Imagine if we could regain
our scents of native rivers
running through us anew,
like salmon always knowing
where to find their sweet water.
Wouldn’t it be glorious to
awake with no fear or hate,
no swords or grudges to bear,
no shrouded ones to bury,
just arms open wide to receive
children needing tender care.
We are imaginal beings,
capable of choosing
our next evolution.
So, why not choose
a radical, fierce love
Revolution?
We’ll dream a luscious dream
passion scented as liminal larval
dissolution strips away ugly residues
of greed, fear, rapacious skies…
Allowing for emergence of truer hues,
almost unrecognizable and new,
beings immersed in syrupy re-knowing,
cosmic soup of re-membering
until at last,
We emerge--ravishing--
fully embodied in
our new supple bodies,
shimmering,
dripping in
translucent
honey.
Marie Boucher is Assistant Professor & Program Head for English for Academic and Professional Purposes at the Middlebury Institute of International Studies at Monterey.
She co-leads the annual International Poetry Week and monthly International Poetry Gatherings in Monterey. She has read at multiple venues in Monterey Bay, San Francisco, Fresno, and Santa Cruz. Marie has published in the Porter Gulch Review, Monterey Poetry Review, Solo Novo, Poet’s Choice. Marie is the Editor-in-Chief for Doves Born of Flames: Poems of Peace from Many Lands, a multilingual anthology slated for publication and her own collection Becoming River (2025).
