frogs and butterflies

lover woke up,
from the dead of night slumber
rolled over
to hold his sweetheart closer.
found her eyes riveted
on the ceiling white.
what do you see, love?
i see frogs and butterflies
in the dim hallway light
spinning across my ceiling
jewelled and bright.
they don't know us
don't know we have to work
to make our wage
and sometimes break
get carried away
but we're alive
so we must be okay.
i think i could be okay.
are you dreaming, heart?
no,
perhaps i am the dream
of the jewelled frogs and butterflies
who only wanted to feel
less alone
in their blank ceiling sky.
she left him then
drank straight from the bathroom tap
looked herself in the eyes.
i watched my blood spill
over china
as the sun flayed my skin
and i was chased
down the dark avenues
of my own memory's sin
i held a baby
when i'd never let a man in.
a stranger pried apart my thighs
and now i must return
to where my lover lies...
i would i only dreamed
of frogs and butterflies.

Reviews

[Antonio Valentino]

Sounds like a fantastical dream, whirled in a blender.

Amazing.
Antonio

[W.k.kortas]

I was going to say this was a classic example of "less is more", but that really doesn't explain the poem nor do it justice. This is, in a sense, a love story, but a very tangible, nuts-and-bolts look; the dreams are not of fairy-tale weddings and happily ever-afters, but of the more prosaic "frogs and butterflies" (and what a wonderful phrase!), dreams adulterated by dark memories. One of the tell-tale signs of bad poetry is that it shreiks and weeps, the emotion allowed to overwhelm the writing. This is well-built poetry that, by keeping the emotions skillfully in check, evokes a more powerful, visceral response.

[Ed Hart]

you must open your heart and bleed right on the page...