A Wingless Butterfly

My mother, 

a true Caco women,

a wingless butterfly

who flew to New York without her skin.

She who once stood under a flaming red tree

stepped back and let go of me.

She lost her father,

her virginity,

and me.

Eventually even the rainbows disappeared.

 

She came back to find me,

but I wasn't lost.

I came back myself

because she was my long-lost mother

who once spoke in silent voices,

but screamed at night.

I saved her every night

during her fight to take flight.

She no longer wanted to be a wingless butterfly

and neither did I.

 

It is the vivid eyes of one's memory

that gives them breath

to breathe freedom

and be the Queen of thier Kingdom.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741