La Farfalla

Ireland Smith

The wind shifts,  

I blink and there it is. 

Carried by the gust is a tiny butterfly. 

It sits perched on the tip  

of my finger, hesitant 

and seeking. Unsure, 

it tests the waters. 

A futile search for fulfillment, 

for the perfect flower, 

for the sunrise after eventide. 

 

As we become familiar,  

she opens her wings. Slow  

at first before falling faster 

and faster. A splash of rich orange 

against ebony markings, a sign 

of misguided trust. 

But as the golden sun lowers 

in the sky, the need for open air 

resurfaces as they beat faster, 

her wings. A restless spirit, 

a vessel not yet anchored. 

 

Again, the wind shifts, 

Carrying those lost petals and she, 

soaring steady and sure as she may be. 

My finger feels lighter 

yet heavier. The sound of freedom 

whistling in the trees. 

Contributor's Note

Ireland Smith is a senior majoring in Biological Sciences and minoring in Chemistry, Psychology, and Literature. She plans to attend medical school next fall and become a physician. In the meantime, she enjoys writing poems to express complex human emotions and experiences, and often confronts heavy issues in her poetry to bring social awareness to them. She graciously thanks everyone who has been supportive of her writing over the years. 

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