Waiting for the Butterfly
by Diane Funston

I creep into the butterfly habitat,
dappled with perfume.
Wearing my most colorful,
flower-full blouse.
Ready for filigree butterflies
to cover me.

I stand still as a park statue.
Silent as the pious in prayer.
Occasionally I drift
toward a new feathery squall—
offer myself,
passive altar,
a turned-down bed.

Amazed, I see whorls of wings
flicker and flutter past me,
to settle instead upon
silver-haired shrieking tourists,
corpulent camera man in a sweat-logged suit,
chocolate-smeared children waving their arms,
calling, “Come here, butterfly, come over here.”

I watch amidst chatter and clutter,
silent, scented, open-palmed—
still waiting.

IMAGE: “The Queen of the Butterflies” by Salvador Dali (1951).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Diane Funston splits her time between a home in the mountain town of Tehachapi, California, and the high desert of central Nevada she shares with her soul-mate husband Roger and three boisterous dogs. She has been published in various journals in California and on the East Coast. She is the founder of a weekly poetry group that has been meeting in Tehachapi for over 10 years. She holds a degree in Literature and Writing from CSU San Marcos. She once heard Lawrence Ferlinghetti read in San Diego, and has visited City Lights Bookstore several times. She writes frequently of longing and loss.