The orchard breathes
rustling the leaves with its exhale,
sending the butterflies spinning through the air
like falling kites
made of wings
Fluttering like a falling flower,
a monarch lands amongst
fallen apples,
discarded fruit
unworthy of Eve's glistening lips
Flexing wings, it perches
until I rush towards it
yelling, arms waving
to shoo it away
because apples contain cyanide
or arsenic
and I want my fluttering friend
to not die
of being poisoned
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem