YOU ASKED ME TO DANCE
A white butterfly
you have come home to dance
on my shoulder, high above daisies
to spin in circles
casting our shadows on a pond
a rendezvous of seasons, and
a landscape covered with snow.
you fooled me.
Your sister’s, sister?
No one noticed when she fell
through ice.
A white picket fence keeps
me away.
I feel your wings.
You flutter toward the barn
pass the statue of the
Blessed Virgin Mary.
We dash to skip over holes
in the floor of the barn.
You grab my hand
we skip over reflections of
light on a wide plank wooden floor.
We pass a broken lantern -
red glass shimmers,
Grandmother’s wedding dress
hanging near our homemade stage.
You grab my hand - together
we run to the hillside
we roll into a ball and tumble
“head over heals,” Grandmother said,
“on over grown grass.”
We roll over clover - our toe’s tangle
in weeds,
we roll near apples left beneath the apple
tree.
In winter,
I hear you laugh -
tears roll down your face
you’re laughing so hard
you bend to catch your breath.
Your chin captures yellow of a butter cup,
again - wings of a white butterfly
leads me to the white picket fence.
The slope disappears.
The apple tree, a twig.
And your face
appears in murky water.
Your laughter still surrounds me.
A stone is tossed
circles swirl over,
and over.
My eyes close as if captured by the
swirling water,
and you were gone.
Forgive me.
A yellow eye - inside a white daisy
asked me to dance.
We are leaping across summer grass
near tall weeds and wild flowers.
Our dance ends - so,
I snap your stem to take you home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
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