
A Wingless Butterfly
My mother,
a true Caco women,
a wingless butterfly
who flew to New York without her skin.
She who once stood under a flaming red tree
stepped back and let go of me.
She lost her father,
her virginity,
and me.
Eventually even the rainbows disappeared.
She came back to find me,
but I wasn't lost.
I came back myself
because she was my long-lost mother
who once spoke in silent voices,
but screamed at night.
I saved her every night
during her fight to take flight.
She no longer wanted to be a wingless butterfly
and neither did I.
It is the vivid eyes of one's memory
that gives them breath
to breathe freedom
and be the Queen of thier Kingdom.
This poem is about:
Our world