Apr 2017
My car
had been
drizzled
in honey
coloured
leaves
during the
night.
My son
and I
made a
spectacle
of how
the gold
fluttered
off into
the wind,
like a
hundred
monarch
butterflies
through
grey
streets.
I tilt
the rear
view mirror,
waiting for
lights to
change.
His soft,
buttery face
reflected
back at
me.
I wonder
how it's
possible
that such
a small
person
has the
power
to halt
the sand
through an
hourglass,
to awaken
sunflowers
by the
moon,
to derive
nectar
from a
stone.
What other
name
is there
for a
person
of such
power
than that
of a bird
which
arises
from its
own
ashes.
had been
drizzled
in honey
coloured
leaves
during the
night.
My son
and I
made a
spectacle
of how
the gold
fluttered
off into
the wind,
like a
hundred
monarch
butterflies
through
grey
streets.
I tilt
the rear
view mirror,
waiting for
lights to
change.
His soft,
buttery face
reflected
back at
me.
I wonder
how it's
possible
that such
a small
person
has the
power
to halt
the sand
through an
hourglass,
to awaken
sunflowers
by the
moon,
to derive
nectar
from a
stone.
What other
name
is there
for a
person
of such
power
than that
of a bird
which
arises
from its
own
ashes.
