As I begin my morning hike,

I see the rite of sacrifice has been paid.

On the sidewalk before the trail,

The butterfly lay dead.

 

The design of a new year begins,

Wishes dance upon my lips–

Like fools before the Queen of Winter–

And freeze before ever spoken.

 

I shall sign my name below

On a contract of odd stinking ritual,

Then walk across a carpet of hot coals—

A long-lost effort to reunite with my naked soul.

 

My mind reels at the sacrifice of this butterfly,

A most remarkable creature, now dead here,

As if my New Year’s wishes

Went hunting by stars.

 

Photo by Annette Kalandros

 

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, a retired teacher, residing in Houston, TX with two French Bulldogs, writes to make sense of things—life, the world, the inner workings of her own mind and soul.  In addition, she had been active in the LGBTQ community since was four years old and marched her Ken doll with all his little Ken accouterments to the big metal trash can in the yard. Her two Barbie dolls lived happily ever after. Her work has been included in the anthology, As The World Burns.

You can read more of her write at https://aikalandros.com/