Another holiday weekend spent
In the company of family,
Eating hot dogs
And swapping stories
Of adventures past,
Tales that seem to grow
With each retelling
And which extracts much laughter
And half-hearted denials
From the one
Who seemed to spend
His youth
In endless trouble.
In the midst of the merriment
A flutterby flits
From person to person,
It's oddly painted wings
Seeming to bless each reveler
With quick butterfly kisses.
But there is something odd
About the creature's behavior,
It's seeming adoration
Of the bloodkin
Over the married-ins,
And I am suddenly awash
With a sense of recognition.
Mom had long adopted the butterfly
As her personal totem,
The animal with which
She felt the most connection.
Could it be
She had returned
To spend the day with us
As this lovely spirit?