To Butterflies

Myths of the Mirror

image: Pixabay

My brother’s death-day is today, so the Independence Day holiday is always a little skewed for our family. After he was killed, I started seeing Monarch butterflies everywhere. This poem is for him.

To Butterflies

The harsh rend of my regrets

torn into paper shards

flutter into your scooped out hole

where heated scents of pine linger

on the cusp of summer’s silhouette

edging the cemetery’s newest stone.

I lay beneath the blue blossoms

white roots dangling like lace

over your tattered wishes.

I would bury my yearning

in the dark and fecund loam

soak it with my tears.

Death holds us lightly

life persisting with unfettered intensity

in spite of mourning

your Forget Me Nots flourish

blue petals transformed though we both will stray

to butterflies

take wing and soar.

**

I wish all my American friends a wonderful July 4th celebration. Wherever you are in the…

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