I used to be a butterfly,
I used to move freely in the world,
From town to town,
Country to country,
Wherever the wind would take me
Sometimes I would rest for a while in somebody’s palm,
Take a breath,
Share some moments,
But I wouldn’t stay,
Because butterflies need to fly.
One day a man’s palm felt like more than a roadhouse to me,
It felt like a home,
I would still fly out into the world,
But I was always eager to return to him,
To his warmth and his shelter.
But he knew better than me,
He saw that I was a butterfly.
He didn’t even see my dreams,
Of resting in his palm forever,
My boredom with flying.
And then, when the breeze turned into a storm,
He failed to keep me safe.
I couldn’t hold onto his opened hand,
And the wind blew me away,
And here I am again, flying like a butterfly.
(Painting: Jackson Pollock)