Buddhas and Butterflies


I need a light poem on this dreary day. Today’s announced cuts in federal programs that bring hope and support to people in need is pulling me on down. Farewell my beloved Learn and Serve America, national youth service-learning program. Still in shock and hoping for a last-minute miracle. I need to reach the last stanza of this poem, and just hover there for a while.

Buddhas and Butterflies

The firm, round belly always does it
makes my fingers itch
to reach and rub

The head draws me too
a finger extends to caress
his crown and brow

As if by touching him
I can steal some of his serenity

As if the stone image,
the cotton t-shirt,
the drawing on the page

hold a magic

will transform me to
butterflies, guileless

hoisted on an updraft
thinking only of the next flower

@ Julie Ayers, February 2011


About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

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