.....Butterflies Sleep Under Leaves Poem by elysabeth faslund

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I falter at the steps before the brass doors.
A crucifix veiled in waxed flames, haloed
By garlanded Marys...
Does it wait beyond the cold, empty aisles?

Into what bed did I slip, calling, 'Daddy, I'm afraid'?
Father, I am afraid.
I want to replant every altared Easter Lily,
If only I were a gardener to use
These muddy fingers.

Didn't you know? Butterflies never die, but
Sleep under leaves all winter.
Unpainted wings on Judean hills echoed a God
The children should know of.
I would have taught them for Your sake...
And theirs.

But I dreamed of a cripple that I married once.
He tried to enter the door...and, with my flowers
I ran. And ran away, knowing the petals would
Wither.
The cripple loved You.

Aren't mornings more than clouds and a sun?
I've opened every one of your gifts...tags, string,
Shiny things.
No dirt or rocks, thorn or leaf, twisted root...
The treasures windows keep.

The curtains are too long in winter, when...
When whatever happens.
I believe in butterflies.
Pray to your God for me.
I cannot talk to strangers with candy
Or warm eyes.