Older Poems (#5)

by lou2300

Metamorphosis

Swarms of yellow
in the morning
when the light still
streaks white;
they dot the trees
and are all I can see in
the spaces.
A butterfly
is an exhalation of breath
carrying the name of the deceased,
their soul inhabiting this place
for a period so brief.
But what is time
in a swarm of yellow butterflies?
Names are inscribed
in the tissue of wings—
Dorrit
Beulah
Elvira
Billy
Vivia
Augustus
Doris…
my ancestors’
souls released
from their chrysalis,
an abundant mass
the colour of little suns.

 

Published in Moko: Caribbean Arts and Letters. Issue 3. July 2014. http://mokomagazine.org/wordpress/poems-by-lou-smith/