Raising butterflies

I love you,
You are my mother.
Sometimes,
I wish we were less friends,
And you made me do things.
But then I think,
If I just go my whole life doin what other people tell me to do,
Sure, I'll do a lot of stuff,
But I won't ever learn how to make a decision on my own.
And I think that would be extremely crippling.
So thank you for not forcing me out of my chrysallis,
No matter how painful it is for you to watch me struggle.
Because someday,
When I'm soaring in that blue sky I'm yearning for,
I will look back and know that it was right.
I guess what I'm saying is,
I know you're worrying about me,
And that sometimes I'm frustrating.
Right now I'm bound by a fear of striking out on my own.
I know that when I get past that I'll be okay,
But until then,
I'm sorry.

By way of apology

I wanted to write a sonnet.
I started to a few times.
But my heart just wasn't in it.
My soul put forth no rhymes.

Moving

Trembling we approach it,
This thing that we have chose.
To leave all that we've worked for
And follow Daddy's nose
To an unfamiliar city,
With new, unfamiliar rows
Of neatly painted houses,
With their tidy garden rose.
And for a new adventure
We'll buy ourselves one of those.
It's a terrifying prospect
To pack up all your throws
For a different sort of winter
Where instead of rain it snows.
But in spite of apprehension
There's another sort of tension
That speaks to one who knows.
And the prospect of new people
And opportunities glows
Across the face of wise ones
As they track the ebbs and flows
Of the myriadic peoples
Who live in tidy rows.

Making Diabetic juice in the van.

In the front seat she pours koolaid powder into a wendy's cup.
Cherry flavored dust swirls, becoming chinese ink clouds,
Bright, sparkling in the sunlight.
The little boy in his carseat laughs.
"Heeey Leadto!" He shouts.
And no one knows why koolaid clouds
Remind him of burritos.
But they smile, and he smiles,
And they sing the burrito song while she pours super sugar,
Not fake, but beyond the powers of plain white sugar,
Into the wendy's cup.

Mother and the Aunts

Five sisters,
Sattelited by children
And significant others
Sit around the sunny fire.
Their conversation
Necessarily excludes
The moons that surround them.
For they speak of their big bang.
The cosmic force that binds them.
The pain and wonder of their childhood,
The formation of their formidability.
Their own unique gravity of levity
That binds others into orbit around them.

Running from a disturbed hive

Angry buzzing in my ear.
Blind flight over fallen trees.
Startled faces around the fire.
Pricks along my scalp.
Crawling on my leg.
Concerned shouts from camp.

Detecting

Murder mysteries on TV:
People touching minds.
Or rather their now empty
Homes with shuttered blinds.

No more

It's getting chilly at night again,
Time to close my bedroom window.
No more fresh air blowing in
No more sounds from below.
It's time again to read my old books,
Cuddled in the safety of throws.
No more curled in outside nooks,
Where the gentle breeze blows.
The colors are changing every where
To reds, golds, browns and varied grays.
Greens live on in darker wear,
No more ever-bright days.