Birthday Tea - A Ruba'Iat Poem by Janet Budd

And butterflies do not land, they alight.
I know, I’ve had one land on me. So light
At first I didn’t notice she was there.
Her curled, unfurling wings disgorging bright.

With careless symmetry, defying air
My butterfly took off, quite unaware
A slight deformity would mar her days.
An untried, un-dried wing. An unmatched pair

Of yellow, orange, russetted mosaics,
Myriad tessellated opaque layers.
Failed in flight. She crash landed on my hand
To let me test the beauty of the maimed.

Suddenly a light was switched on in my mind
Wondering at this startling fateful find
I felt a wound, festering deep in me
Saw spoiled perfection. Innocence resigned

The evening Uncle Terry came to tea.
It could have been my birthday, eager screams
Welcomed everyone who came through the door
Laden with gifts and smiles. Excitedly

I laugh my last naïve laughter. I’m sure
It is my birthday, maybe five or four
The ‘Happy Birthday’ song’s mixed up with cake
And wrapping tangled ribbons fill the floor.

All party guests are gone. Terry delays
Washing dishes. Allowed to stay up late
I sit, watching TV, disappearing
Drowsily. I dream strangely, then awake

Find myself on Terry’s knee. Hot burning
Creeps up beneath. I yelp cat like, freezing
As the ridings rise then stop. He joins me
Moaning. Tells me secrets are for keeping.

My memories pupate for long, long years.
The child he left, invisible, unseen
Hid safe within her hard dark brittle skin
Till her imperfect butterfly flew free.

Imperfect butterfly wish to the wind
Fly high, fly wild. Let your spirit spin
boldly in a tornado’s eye. Soar high
And with you take my tears shed for a child.

And butterflies do not land, they alight.
I know, I’ve had one land on me. So light
At first I didn’t notice she was there.
Her curled, unfurling wings disgorging bright