La Farfalla
Ireland Smith
The wind shifts,
I blink and there it is.
Carried by the gust is a tiny butterfly.
It sits perched on the tip
of my finger, hesitant
and seeking. Unsure,
it tests the waters.
A futile search for fulfillment,
for the perfect flower,
for the sunrise after eventide.
As we become familiar,
she opens her wings. Slow
at first before falling faster
and faster. A splash of rich orange
against ebony markings, a sign
of misguided trust.
But as the golden sun lowers
in the sky, the need for open air
resurfaces as they beat faster,
her wings. A restless spirit,
a vessel not yet anchored.
Again, the wind shifts,
Carrying those lost petals and she,
soaring steady and sure as she may be.
My finger feels lighter
yet heavier. The sound of freedom
whistling in the trees.
Contributor's Note
Ireland Smith is a senior majoring in Biological Sciences and minoring in Chemistry, Psychology, and Literature. She plans to attend medical school next fall and become a physician. In the meantime, she enjoys writing poems to express complex human emotions and experiences, and often confronts heavy issues in her poetry to bring social awareness to them. She graciously thanks everyone who has been supportive of her writing over the years.
