White Winged (2025)

Towards you, the white butterfly returns in Spring revival, an eternal love labor.

White Winged
since the pandemic, Reborn

I hope you know darling
I couldn’t possibly be the wild garden butterfly,
haphazardly flapping white wings
before your aromatic hyacinth,
lily of the valley bell sprays, amid
sprung tulips’ symmetry daring.

Mother’s hand-me-down heirlooms await,
long those tender hands – weed, divide,
to surround your beautiful, wide eyes
envisioning eternal, a symphony rearriving.

In an instant, we all are taken by nature.

If your true Cabbage White, lovingly I’d delight –
mother’s Kale, cultivated cauliflower
and ravaged cabbage I'd pollinate.
Indebted to you, I'd repay. Nectar
for transgressions I’d surely admit. Regret,
if not repurposed as your White.

I fade forgotten into blue, clouded time –
risen since yellow dust light,
toward that vault of mystery,
beyond the sway of towering pine judgement.

My devout worship rises,
from your ash ground. In the soil mixed,
ever-loving healer, for your Spring desire,
proud blooms I too witnessed thrive.

Coda –
The most beautiful melody at memorial you can't hear
plays in an empty row, eternally alone.
You clutch my hand, as if knowing my suffering
heals your own. In bed each night, earth silenced,
tenderly, for you I give up my soul's remains.


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