The Damaged Monarch Tries To Fly Poem by Grant House

The damaged Monarch tries to fly

One wing torn,
Half gone, in fact,
She
tries
to fly.

All hope gone,
No miracle to come.
Vulnerable, alone,
Utterly alone.
She tries
again
to fly.

Brilliant orange and black etched wings
Earned at such a price,
Bought by effort
Unimaginable effort.
Black face
Facing out
And up.
Half a proud wing lost
A foot away among the weeds
Broken
Detached
And yet
She tries
once more
to fly.

Warm morning breeze.
Bright glowing sun.
Fine clouds sail above.
Small ocean waves lap the empty beach nearby.

Brothers, sisters, cousins
Glide and toss
On unseen waves of air.
Delicious leaves,
Sweet blossoms on branches reaching out.

She lies
on her side
below
Struggling.
And then
With all her might
Rights herself,
And tries
again
to fly.

When mortally wounded
What else is there to do?

The spirit of the wounded Monarch
Lives in me.
I promise this to you my friend,

I will
try
to fly.

Will you?