Butterflies Aren't So Poetic After All

Hubby and I are kind of addicted to "Bones." We know how unrealistic it is, but the interaction among the characters has us hooked. So we were watching the other night when a butterfly hunter (lepidopterist?) discovered a corpse that butterflies had been feeding on. Kind of a shocking revelation for watchers who thought butterflies ate only nectar from the bowls of flowers, I'll bet. Anyway, it reminded me of this poem I had written several years ago:

 The Tangerine Flower

 Saucer-large and beautiful,

 It rested on the dirt path

 Worn by years of deer-hooves

 Through the Kiamichi Mountain woods,

 Hundreds of tiny petals

 Quivering as if in gentle breeze.

 It would have looked at home

 In Hawaii or the Amazon--

 In Oklahoma it made us pause.

 Who brought it here,

 Where only deer and hikers walked?

 A hopelessly lost Teleflorist man?

 One more step for a closer look,

 And the blossom exploded,

 Petals flying away in pairs

 As hundreds of small, bright butterflies

 In panic rose and left behind

 The pile of dung on which they fed.

copyright 2011