Poem: In the Butterfly Room

I pay $5 to watch hundreds of
shape shifting wings flutter and soar 

towards the sky. A ceiling painted 

pale blue with a crooked yellow circle 

lurks in the distance like a sunflower 

birthing deformed seeds.

A stray moth searches for the light, 

while life glows inside paper lanterns 

surrounded by purple ivy. The room
is uncomfortably humid, a small pupa 

with no windows. The decoupage forest 

is wilting on my shoulders.

So, I sit alone with the butterflies. 

Contemplate how to set them free 

while carrying my basket of dreams 

through the narrow exit.

* This is a poem I wrote many years ago and it appears in my latest chapbook, The Night Garden.