Painted Ladies
the day after you sighed
your last breath out
we let your butterflies go
your painted ladies
four of them born
from paper wombs
into a cheesecloth cage
now proudly decked out
in orange and white
trimmed in black
we let them go
with stiffened fingers
they would not leave
one drifted in hovering
half-hearted circles
another rested softly on your
daughter's wet shoulder
a third held close to the budding
milkweed you saved
from the scythe years ago
the last one content to say
perched in its velvet cape
on my sunlit finger
we could not speak
so still
the afternoon
and when time began
once again to flow
they knew it was for them
(the opening of our hands)
another ragged breath was drawn
as they pumped and sputtered
(a single voice)
and took to the clouding sky
Copyright Credit: James K. Zimmerman, "Painted Ladies" from Little Miracles. Copyright © 2015 by James K. Zimmerman. Reprinted by permission of Passager Books.
Source: Little Miracles (Passager Books, 2015)