After gashing her soul through yesterday’s mirror
her blood spilled in fallow fields
nurturing tomorrow’s sacred grove
whose leaves swirled around her rising form.
Her body settled into the low spaces
placing her life on hold.
into a kaleidoscope of mourning cloaks
whose collective fluttering murmured
liniment across a darkened sky,
surprised into night by a flight of butterflies.
Brenda Warren 2014
Note: The Mourning Cloak is a butterfly; it is also Montana’s state insect.
Thank you to Tess at The Mag for the ekphrastic inspiration.