butterfly lenses

butterfly lenses, in the The Paragon Journal – a thoughtful, artful, and lovely publication

 

BUTTERFLY LENSES

Boil it down to edge of the pot and residue remains where they died. I once believed all crabs were all born red until I saw my first Jersey blues. Cobalt and beautiful. What a thrill, lowering twine anchored to raw chicken necks. I didn’t know when these chickens lost their necks. Didn’t see them die. There are birds born to be dead then peppered for mouths with breadcrumbs and butter.

Of those blue beauties, I thought we discovered something profoundly
remarkable like the first dead cicada I’d assumed was a prehistoric fly.

Childhood eyes of marbles and butterfly lenses. The pot heavy with water, sparkling like the ocean, clatters onto the stove looking less bright in the sandy evening. That day the beach was too hot. We’d almost drowned in the powerful riptide, but didn’t. Saved by a rope that resembled the very same cord we pulled the blue beauties up from their ocean floor homes–hemp their chains and our salvation.

Into the pot

I hear screams of angry bleeding in the cottage kitchen with its lighthouse curtains fluttering in the salty breeze. My stomach lurches. Blue, red, all colors boiling together.

Sickness and seasoning

As your blue shells grow fire red, purple specks melting off indigo thumbprints vanish as if you never had life. Bright engine red wailing silenced for a sharpened knife.

This is the day I learn all crabs are not born red.

This was the day I learned when to break my butterfly lenses.

this poem is based on a true childhood experience.
the first time I ever saw live crabs boiled I was with a friend’s family down the shore.
I was shocked when the crabs we were fishin’ out of the ocean were not bright red
this was the first and only time in my life I ever became homesick
“my mom and dad would never boil live creatures,” is what was running through my eleven-year-old mind
(cover and image belongs to Paragon Journal – I added cover blurb for WP image)
thank you

Dappled Sunlight

Dear Friends,
Was it so long ago four little feet shuffled up the silent, curving driveway? The trees were especially kind that summer day as they cooled your bright bodies. Filtered sunlight painted dappled patches on your skin. You held your brother’s hand. Your brother held tight both your hand and his blue, plastic golf club. Our Shepherd guarded you both as if you were her own pups.

But as fast as the leaves left the trees, you both grew. Your feet wandering off that silent driveway and onto other travelled roads. Today, tomorrow or wherever your paths take you, keep in your hearts that dappled day when the sun was warm and the light was cool and we had a picnic lunch on the soft green grass…

car and max on roadHow quickly the young gallop away…

zebrasThank you and goodnight. May you count your blessings instead of sheep this night…
Have a beautiful weekend. 🙂
Delicate daughter and big son taken 2002 at our old house in the woods, zebras rendered in Prisma 2008