Read Poem: The Flying Habits of Butterflies, by Marthese Fenech

Butterflies do not fly very high.
They grace forest and canyon and sunny woodland glades
play on streams of light
splashing through leafy canopies.
They rise and fall.
Pass into shadow and out.
Delicate
even the light might bruise them.
Is that why
they stay close to the ground?
Are they loathe to test their wings
because they might fail?
What made that one think she’d falter?
Who told her to stay low?
Someone concerned
that the beating of her wings
might cause a hurricane.
Or that she might achieve
the full potential of flight
Touch the sky.
Climb above
The sky was never the limit.
Just a page to write on.
And yet, butterflies do not fly very high.
Even when we could carry each other up
with the collective wind
of our own beating wings.
A defiance against those
who would have us stay low
Rise.
Beyond the sky.
And if it pleases
bring forth
a fucking hurricane.

About poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.
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