The news loops and re-loops until tomorrow’s loop loops the next tomorrow.
We are naming the butterflies before the frost settles in.
The storm windows are winning against us in light only painters can manipulate.
Words are trite in the backdrop of war, but someone needs a distraction.
Boys play golf in the field, worried about a physics test.
The month’s money slips through unfortunate calculations.
The cello, though restrung, has forgotten all melodies.
Saints have crystalized to stained glass windows.
Things hurt in new places.
Last night I was something more interesting.
Last night I wasn’t preoccupied with home.
You never flinch. You create though all the chaos.
Thank you so much for reading my work, for your feedback, and for this comment–much appreciated!
Sitting at the train station one afternoon last week, I watched as one after another Monarch butterfly dipped and danced as the Monarch procession headed southward.
I named one, “Stan The Monarch”. I hope Stan is well. I don’t know if Stan’ll send me a postcard, but I really hope he does.
Nice lines by the way. 🙂
I hope Stan sends a postcard poem to the poet St. Francis of Dallas! Thank you for reading and for the comment. Thank you for making me laugh!
This was not a good year for butterflies. Or lightning bugs. But if you are a fan of those little beetles that look like ladybugs, they are everywhere, and how did they find their ways into my house, to the inside of my windows? It is not even cold outside.
It’s not even cold outside, but we’ve forgotten how to adjust the hammock.