Butterfly Garden

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TBT– butterflies! From two years ago. . . I still think the photos are pretty, although the poetry needs a little work. xoxo.

momaste

20130727-162238.jpg All photos in this post are personal property of CJP.

Wings passed me soft as a buttery wind or a shadow.

Imagine one alighting on my shoulder,

folding her wings of tiny, gilded feathers and slipping

like a secret sonnet beneath my shirt, next to my beating heart.

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The man at the door warned us that release of such an exotic creature

could throw our whole ecosystem off balance and

was punishable with prison.

Then he slunk off through the screen-draped doors

to scowl and smoke.

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If only I could be here, in the moment of wings

whose only job is to brush through the air.

If only I could be here, but I am distracted by the man

with rheumy eyes and smoke, by his sharp story,

by the heat of the day.

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It is such a short, proud life of vibrant colors that both

please the eye and frighten…

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