In Response To A Sign At School That Says "Throw Away Your Trash; It's Easier Than Chasing Butterflies" (9/17/08)

Chasing butterflies is easy-
you see something beautiful out of the corner of your eye
and your feet just start moving towards it on their own.
Soon they are there every time you close your eyes
delicate wings flapping, vivid colors burnt into your irises.
Anything so fragile, so free must be pinned down, possessed.
The flutter of wings haunts dreams.
Your toss restless, weighed down by the ache.

Catching butterflies is hard-
and if you ever do, it's not long before their wings crumble
in your palm. Their fragility is now a thing to despise.
Next to their vivid hues, your pale, doughy hand is both plain and utterly flawed.
Their beauty is now a thing to despise.

But, years after, you are still changed. All your dreams stained by their watercolor patterns,
your heart beating in time to the ceaseless flutter of wings. You know it won't be long before
you are chasing them again.

Chasing butterflies is hard-
you should probably just throw out your trash.

Pondering Past Lives (8/11/09)

I don't know if I ever knew you in a past life-
building churches together in South America or
smiling quietly at you as you guided ships home with beams of light,
but I like to think that throughout lifetimes of bodies, male and female,
pressed against mine under cover of night,

that there was a tiny empty space somewhere inside me
that knew the feeling of missing something or someone unknown
and that it bore down upon me, confusing me, with my beloved husband
and my beautiful daughters and my God and my full stomach and warm feet.

I like to think I was always waiting for you.