monarch/nemesis
those orange sheets, their distinctive shape and freckles are the matriarch of my family telling me I'm doing the right thing or warning me of something in which case her gentle surf over a day's wasting breeze has been a narration of my mistakes I try to blame on a broken compass that only draws flat circles with no “north”
a fear of music in deference to living in banality as to do no harm,
the jainist sense of sweeping ants out of your way to avoid any inadvertent destruction,
removing your own influence from a reality built of every influence that has ever been,
but let's keep it simple,
She flew, and before, She crawled, She cocooned and later will die
and billions will never know how important She was
to the garden
to me
to the circle and the rain
She fluttered and died on what felt like the same day.
I miss her, I miss all of them. I hope they are at peace.
to carry on is impossible without acknowledging that we do nothing for anyone
and do everything for ourselves
only to claim selflessness like the man who invented dynamite
and died alone, his own Nemesis.
as her wings flutter, does a hurricane
sweep the aunts out of its way
on the other side of the world?
that gentle wind She made
the only perennial in the ground.
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