Spanish Fly Caitríona O’Reilly Not glass-green at all but iridescent; a mineral-winged insect ground to powder with toads’ bones, moles’ teeth and iron filings; a glittering suspension I gave him to drink, unknowing, for what he made me see: not the globe but the map’s foxed edges, not the sentence but the syllable, not the embroidery but the unpicked stitch.