Butterflies Across The Field

He tries to stop us He goes overboard There are no children Water fills the boat. We choose a new captain He falls asleep Face down on the waves There is no ocean. We each steer the ship Men are tied to rafts Dancing the tango in the air Our feet melt to the boards. Women are packed in boxes They do not belong Children throw the boxes to the fishes The captain is back. We don’t know how to steer Waves break the fragile boards The stern dips deeper Ghosts circle the vertical ship. Nobody can breathe We don’t live We don’t die The dead are attached at the limbs. We can drive a boat There is no boat We cling to our new rafts Where are the fish? Children parade around the mast Their ears are our oars The iceberg is yards away We jump into the water, unified. We stand on the surface Gliding to the tribe Their spears sparkle in the sun We have no legs. The trackless train takes off There is no conductor We are taken to the core There is a seamstress. She whistles and rocks Blood staining her hands like tears Pansies surround her legs Flat like paper against the wall. The train rocks on the waves We stand against the tree Nobody takes our tickets There is no sound. The windows show movies Images of lilacs and festivals People are crying What are people? There is no seamstress Her legs remain on the wall We are frozen There is no we I am left on the boat.