Butterflies Butterflies Butterflies

Butterflies Butterflies Butterflies
By Lauren Garrison

As I lie in the green green grass
I glance up,
Fixed on the bluest of skies,
As blue as the Maldives,
A perfect replica of my partner’s eyes.

A butterfly flutters by, balancing upon my brow bone.
With its soft spirit, I hardly notice it’s there.
It reminds me how soft his touch used to be,
It used to carry me through the wind
Now all that flies are the butterflies.

I close my eyes to see darkness.
Darkness my grandpa sees under the soil;
My garden of vegetables that I’ve let spoil.
An expiration date has been reached,
But it’s difficult for me to throw them out.

The blue and black I witness with my orbitals
Compliment the bullseyes around my eyes,
Courtesy of my partner’s fighting spirit,
A commemorative to the lesions left by my father's belt
On my bum when I used to chase the butterflies.

I love my garden and the butterflies,
I love my partner and his foolish lies,
I love this home built on a battleground,
But is love enough to make my only escape
a scenic landscape with beautiful butterflies?