BUTTERFLY WINGS
Word Count: 364
I sleep on down pillows and have cobweb sheets on the bed. If it’s cool in the evening I unroll the maple leaf blanket. Sometimes in the winter I may need a quilt of butterfly wings and that’s fine because butterfly wings bring good dreams.
The space you left empty is hollowed out just as you left it. Each morning I wake you up with a cherry-mouthed kiss. I know you’re not there but sometimes I think I can taste the peach of your cheek, feel the stubble of overnight spent in growing a beard.
When we were so young that the hummingbirds served as our playmates, when the robins twirled worms as a rope we could skip–double-dutch was your favorite back then–when we were that young we were joyous and laughed at the rain.
We spent our years running through meadows of sweet spring grass that tickled our bare ankles and bent into a cushion for when we had to make love then and there. We married in gossamer white with wreaths of fresh blossoms entwined in our hair, the sunshine on our faces, and no shoes on our feet.
We were the king and queen of the small plot of land on Oak Street. Our house was a castle of sand blown in from the shoreline with windows of crystalline sugar and a chocolate door. You picked bouquets of wildflowers, field grass and sun and I dried our clothes in the branches of trees with cardinals behaving as clothespins.
I remember your first silver hair and your pointing it out, your face a sad wrinkled frown. You looked so worried and frightened of years creeping away like a ball rolling away from your grasp. I picked up the years and tossed it back into your hands.
We were so happy nearly all of our lives and as soulmates, I speak to you now. And though I still love you with all of my heart, I must–as always–be honest and plain. You see I thought you would keep your last promise and never would leave me. But you left in the soft quiet morning on butterfly wings.
marvelous! “We were the king and queen of the small plot of land on Oak Street. Our house was a castle of sand blown in from the shoreline with windows of crystalline sugar and a chocolate door. You picked bouquets of wildflowers, field grass and sun and I dried our clothes in the branches of trees with cardinals behaving as clothespins.” this is so good. but now you also need to get back to the dark side of the force. on butterfly wings if necessary …
It’s hard for me to write about dark things while death is still fresh and sacred in my mind. I do seem to be getting over the hump, however, and will try to get dark-minded without crying.
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