Butterfly

Butterfly (Growing Up) (8th June 2008, 4.09pm)

We climbed Glastonbury Tor
on our first proper date
after watching a polo match:
idyllic summer’s day;
you were trying to impress me;
I was being myself,
chasing butterflies across the hill
with a shriek, leap, laugh,
and you stood on the concrete path
and disapproved of my
childish abandonment.

I wished that I could pin you
in a glass-fronted frame,
frozen in the moment
limbs splayed for display,
so you’d always be
my butterfly
and never leave;
I told you and you said
‘grow up, please’.

I spent the whole summer long
trapped in an indoor cage,
watching your profile as you
drew on your grown-up Marlboro
over my children’s book;
we’d barbecue outside in your
landlady’s garden
and she’d join us with her
food, laughter, conversation,
and it felt like forever
might be like those days.

I wish that I had pinned you
in a glass-fronted frame,
a permanent lover
laid out for display;
but you flew away,
my butterfly,
because I never did
grow up, did I?