Beyond The Butterflies Poem by Sally A Mortemore

Red Admirals flutter the glass of our prison windows
brief lives fading in frustration
the grasp of the clock's hands
too eager with insistence.
But they were not there yesterday
as the sun
squeezed the curtains
the velveteen fresh
with the dust of my mother's memory.
So I let fly the glass for them
but the radio
spluttered with wings of every species
their colours spilling the house.
and as they rest upon my lips
their efficacy cutting through religion
I know her spirit rests in peace.
the dog no longer chasing her shadow.


Sally A Mortemore 2012