Wednesday, April 11, 2012

25. The spot on my back where my wings used to be

On this bóithrín butterflies abound
fluttering like escaped
confetti in the afternoon sun.
Here a brown dark and yellow
spotted creature
disguised as a fallen leaf
conceals itself close to
where red admirals and peacocks
brazenly flaunt their gaudy
nakedness.
It crouches lower,
and trembles under a bracken
shadow on the hot asphalt.

I bend down to know it more
closely
and the spot on my back where
my wings used to be
itches.

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