After Reflecting on 2020, The Poet Speaks to the Swallowtail

You did not warn me about storms, 
how each drop of rain is like
a bowling ball battering your body; 
how the slightest decline in temperature 
can send you spiraling to the earth’s floor 
where hungry beaks and sucking mouths 
anxiously await your floundering arrival. 
 
I did not see you slip quietly into the brush 
when thunder roared in the distance;
how tightly you folded your wings 
to rest and wait for the storm to pass. 
I saw only joy-filled flights through 
a sun-flecked garden, not realizing 
what was necessary to survive.

I will be participating in a poetry reading orchestrated by award-winning poet Jack Ridl on Thursday, December 10th, at 7:00 p.m. ET. If you would like to be in the audience via Zoom, please let me know. 

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Following the lead of the swallowtail, I am folding my wings to rest for a while. Thank you for your feedback, encouragement and support as I wandered the earth for the last 15 years, camera and notebook in hand.

The Swallowtail 
Speaks to the Poet
February 2018
 
I, too, was afraid 
to leave the comfort 
of the cocoon, to emerge 
from the safety
of the shadows. 
But having discovered 
sunlight, I 
soar dreamily
among the sweet-smelling
blossoms of the lilac, 
flitting from one joyful 
moment to the next. 
 
My life is too short 
to compare my resilience
to that of the monarch,
or worry the moth might
be lighter, nimbler 
as it flutters through 
a hedge of hydrangeas. 
Instead, I spend each
sunlit moment sampling
the sweetness of the flowers,
delighting in the diversity 
of earth’s many gardens,
grateful I flew away
from the darkness.