Liza’s Butterflies


she giggles at butterflies and gapes wildly
as the bluebirds fly by   —   a child’s wonder
still alive and celestial bright though
well into her third decade,   her laughter
open as this cloudless kentucky sky
she asks what the big buzzards eat,   scrunches
her nose at the thought of carrion and
runs to a cluster of dandelions
plucks a handful and beckons down the path
along the something-elkhorn river,   though
here it is more a stream even after
last night’s storms.        at the fallen nest,    three eggs
victim to storm winds,   she sheds a tear for
each before spying another butterfly   .  .  .

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