Swallowtails
Sleep did not come easy, nor did dawn arrive
as a sweet kiss upon a cheek of hope, spring
has yet to dwell in all of winter's vacant spaces.
I lay there, long after sun slithered through the
creases of the blinds, beneath my thin blanket,
the one with the map of the world on it's top...
( I always like to know where it is that I am )
I lay there and thought about what was going
to become of me, you know, that crib to grave
thing...child to man to child again, then suddenly
I remembered the swallowtails I saw yesterday,
the first of the season, and how I wrote a poem
about them and then tucked it away into a drawer.
The swallowtails arrived today, sweeping
away all of winter's leftover silence, gripped
upon threads of airy current and spring's coming.
Three, four...more, now seven...kite-wings of sun
and night sharing a backbone of flight, first sign
of migration north from polar south, dew dripping
from each tired mouth, they flit and steer this way
and that, light, for just a moment, and off they go.
Gone, the scene more poetic than I could ever show.
Now, the hours are dragging their tired heels again,
toe to toe with loneliness, and I am wondering...
how do some people do it, make the most of things
when there is nothing else to make.
(April 20 2016)
Copyright ©
J. Tudor
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