We sit in the field. Silence echoes.
Dad freezes high up in his chair, whilst I cross-leg
On the ground. Alone. The hay stretches for miles
But no one’s here to admire its trembling beauty.
The wind brushes up against our faces, stroking
The corners of our lips. I arch my arm, clutching
Dad’s hand and inhale his invader’s tremors.
A stranger, forever stalking our footprints.
A red butterfly sprouts out of the gold, circling the air.
Its wings flutter, floating down sapphires from the sky.
We let the gems trickle to the dirt with a sigh,
Our hands don’t let go as this beauty passes by.
|Our hands don't let go as this beauty passes by...Copyright © 2016- Jordan McQueen. All rights reserved.|