We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.
We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.
My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:
We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.
In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.
years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
often isn’t.
We lived in a house that had outdoor skylights. Insects would be lured by the light and die trying to fly through the glass that imprisoned them.
I hated those skylights...
Hey lovely poets! Thank you so much for being a supportive, amazing group of people. I'm truly honored that you take the time to read my poems. The Daily is just icing on an already sweet cake.
: )
