On Butterflies & Time
Plate 27 from “The Naturalist's Library,” Vol. III, “Entomology,” by James Duncan (Edinburgh, London and Dublin: 1835). © The Trustees of the British Museum.
And here we are at the end of April, 2020. I feel the need to catch my breath, to pause before we dive into May. That pause between months is infinitesimal, the breadth of a pinpoint, like the moment between perception and preferences arising. I would prefer a little more time.
April was Poetry Month. What is a month? Just an idea, a cultural construct we choose to believe in, yet the experience is so utterly subjective and flexible. Just how fast or slow was the month of April? I spent a tremendous amount of time DOING important (-to-me) things and BEING in stillness and STILL the month flew by at a blistering speed that leaves me breathless. Or maybe it was just blisteringly intense.
On the first day of this month I launched my new website. (WAH-LAH!! You are here!) On the same day, four of my poems were published, all in one go, at the beautiful Hairstreak Butterfly Review, Issue Three. (There is, in fact, a hairstreak butterfly in the State of Colorado, where HBR was born. I checked.)
My poems have absolutely nothing to do with butterflies, and everything to do with islands. And death. And memory. Maybe. You decide.
