White Butterfly Wing
from Out With Lanterns
This last loss, gargantuan,
unholy, so the crow visits,
bows its gnarled black head,
and the white butterfly
flies over, again, again, but
it does not land. I chase it,
trip, run shoeless down
the dark street begging
for just one wing. I need it.
I could use that wing
to make a white flag,
wave it high, whisper
mercy to this awful year.
I could use that wing,
study it, try to understand
how to fly, how to bust out
of this sorrow palace.
I could use that wing
as pillow on these quiet
nights and quieter days,
bed no relief anymore,
beg for relief before waking.
Hi friends,
Thanks for your patience as I quietly muddled through these last grievous weeks. Grief is a beast, isn’t it? I am aiming to write again this week. Thank you so much for your continued kindness and warm wishes as I drag my broken heart back to the page.
What would I do without the page? At least I know that it won’t die. There will always be a blank screen, an empty page, a rock and a piece of charcoal with which to write it all down. Today I’m thankful for that.
Much love,
Julie
We don't NEED you to write. We need you to heal. And that will take time. So much time. You will write when YOU need to write. Take care. Sending butterfly energy.
I am so sorry that you are going through so much grief right now. I am, too, in my own way. I learned a term this morning that I am loving and maybe you will, too. When a caterpillar goes into its cocoon, it essentially turns into a blob of mushy cells before it transforms into a butterfly. Those cells are called imaginal cells. The imaginal cells contain the blueprint for the creation of the butterfly that will eventually emerge. I am embracing the notion that my imaginal cells know what to do and that they have the exact right blueprint to follow to create the butterfly that I will eventually become when I emerge from this grief. I hope this idea helps you, too, Julie.