Trembling Beauty
We
sit in the field. Silence echoes.
Dad
freezes high up in his chair, whilst I cross-leg
On
the ground. Alone. The hay stretches for miles
But
no one’s here to admire its trembling beauty.
The
wind brushes up against our faces, stroking
The
corners of our lips. I arch my arm, clutching
Dad’s
hand and inhale his invader’s tremors.
A
stranger, forever stalking our footprints.
A
red butterfly sprouts out of the gold, circling the air.
Its
wings flutter, floating down sapphires from the sky.
We
let the gems trickle to the dirt with a sigh,
Our
hands don’t let go as this beauty passes by.
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| Our hands don't let go as this beauty passes by...Copyright © 2016- Jordan McQueen. All rights reserved. |
