The day Dad tries to burn our house down with us in it, my excited brother is yelling, “Fire!” as I run downstairs into cloud of smoke billowing from open oven door where Dad’s cream puffs combust, ashes to ashes, because he doubled butter.
An ekphrastic poem inspired by Tweetspeak’s Creativity Cafe…
children, dreams, and butterflies quickly flutter by (bye bye!) uniquely created, bold flashes of color with bright eyes, soft bodies, and alert antennae stretching, reaching as they fly higher (how high?) warming wings in sunshine, growing stronger in moment yet delicately designed emotionally fragile perfectly asymmetrical (if you look closely) and we wonder… will they become butterflies drinking nectar or moths seeking the light?
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