Instead of Writing this Poem About the
Butterflies on Moon Road
I should finish my chores.
Folded clothes on the floor blossom,
sock snails curl by pillowcase buds.
A neglected cauliflower waits in the wings
with limp leaves for the bright lights of the oven.
Dishes sweat in a sauna longing for a cool cupboard.
Instead, I am distracted by the storm stirred
in the search for salts in dirt road puddles.
Buttery wings filled the air, burst like popcorn,
bubbling kernels erupting in a silent movie.
I stood in the eye of the butterfly funnel,
a pale yellow, delicate tornado.
Will I know to flutter up from the mud
when it’s time to move on?
Author: Jean Janicke
Photo: Boris Smokrovic on Unsplash
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