Butterfly

When I was younger, butterflies

used to land on me

I remember we were on holiday in Wales

sitting in a field, playing a board game

A big red butterfly came and landed on the back of my hand

it stayed for the whole game,

it would happen at home, In the garden

happened so often it stopped being a big deal.

Just a little quirk to the summer time.

I used to work in this pub

to get there from my house

you have to walk across a couple of miles of fields

Public foot path, across wheat and corn fields

the edges of the field lined with hedges filled with flowers

As I would walk, headphones in my ears

I would turn around to see lines of butterflies following me

lazily chasing me, all different colours.

If I slowed down, they would land on my back;

my arms or even my head

I would hate arriving at work

I could have to get rid of them

I wished I could keep them

like a pirate with a bird.

this hasn’t happened in a few years

The other day, the end of a hot spring day

a white butterfly flew down to me, I held out my hand, hopeful

it landed, then it lied down, closing its wings and died

Speechless, I buried it, what else could I do.