I see a butterfly.
It distracts me from my own empty thoughts.
The delicate creature’s lighted on a yellow flower
Next to the same park bench where he proposed not so long ago.
It’s a monarch, my favorite. I am jealous a bit of its beauty
And freedom.
Butterflies don’t think, I suppose, about the past or the future.
There must be peace in only knowing this time and place,
Never needing or wanting to know the universe it lives in,
Engaging in risky and complicated emotions.
I wonder what it would feel like, sucking the sweet nectar,
To not sense regret, pain, even love that can fade away as quickly as the petals on the rose.
Both so incredibly fragile… like people do, taking chances on promiser makers,
Who aren’t promise- keepers, who leave on a shooting star
When the night is gone.
But, then, so am I, when only yesterday I was strong.
I knew, or thought I knew what truth was. Now, I know more of lies.
Brenda Drexler
