Marginalia

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Fri, 04 Apr 2014
  • 1593 reads
6 comments
 
Like a warm, sleepy southern drawl
dawn arrives, and, so does she.
 
Remember me, she pleads
this soft-shuttered morning, nestling
on a pillow on my bed.
 
How could I not? I muse...relinquishing
my pen to its rest...succumbing 
to another painful bout
of writers’ block. 
 
Had she rested here, overnight;
silent as the hearts of the black
monkey grass
 
and the snakes' slow,
surreptitious glide?
 
Translucent, transitory,
white, and faintly fragile...
 
light from a peach-melba sunrise
seemingly shining right through her.
 
Forget her?  
 
Simpler, by far, to straighten
a rainbow, bring peace to the Gaza Strip... 
convince bears they’re not mad about honey;
no, not at all
 
as, with one stutter of her wings,
she was off, through an open window.
 
Remains – a scribbled note 
in the margin of my book, reads:
 
Poem writ; Sara Orange-Tip
was here.
 
 
Certificate U
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Nature
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Enjoyable read. Butterflies capture so much of beauty, fragility, and a smile! Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks for reading, Rhiannon...and yes, they sure dosmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

Butterflies are all manner of things to me. Signs and meanings and people and ghosts. The layers are delicate yet very poignant.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Aren't they, just?

But I guess, we should remember - one can only chase a butterfly for so longsmiley

 

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Tina,

I often think of rebirth when I see a butterfly,  how it changes from a chrysalis into such a beautiful winged insects.  You've captured its essence so well in this piece.

Loved it.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So pleased you thought so, Jenny.  They are so very, very beautiful...butterflies, I mean, as are your words.

Tina