Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid.
Pre-Final Exam: the butterflies in my stomach flutter only a little; I have netted them myself. Tomorrow if they have not died of containment I will chloroform them with fingernail polish remover dropped into their jar. But for now, if you listen closely, you can hear their wings flap-flapping in a futility of desperation. I have rescued the butterflies from death at the beak of a bird and will immortalize them in clear, diamond-like words. I feel their wings beat, churning my stomach’s juices, strengthening its bile.