lepidoptera
by Peter DeWolf
The little butterfly struggled against the wind.
As little butterflies sometimes do.
Tossed and turned around by relentless, uncaring gusts.
The little butterfly would make progress, but then be pushed back.
Tantalizing close to where she was heading.
A feeling more than a destination.
Calm.
The little butterfly kept on.
She had been through a lot. More than the little butterfly would admit.
To most.
Still the scars on her wings did nothing but accentuate her beauty.
Golden.
Warm.
Catching the sometimes elusive sun.
The wind blew up again. Mercilessly.
She was whipped about.
Back to where she started.
The little butterfly kept on.
The little boy watched the butterfly struggle from his window and wished he could help.
As little boys sometimes do.
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Author's Note
It's about flutterbies and junk.
Other stories by Peter DeWolf
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I like how information is given out with this. In bits as we go along. The butterfly is a "she" was somehow a moment like that for me. And of course the boy watching the butterfly's struggle. Also, I dig the repetition and echo in the second and last line. It works in a simple way that is told with care.
I like where this poem led the reader, following along like the butterfly.
Sheldon & Susan: Thanks so much for the kind words.