Ars Poetica (after Dana Levin)

Butterfly season. The small lilac

fluttering about the buddleia,

the cabbage white weaving between

laurel leaves, and the mahogany

with spotted black irises for wings

circling above the patio; circling above my cat’s

olive eyes. His body curved in silent wait,

claws curled for capture. Whilst their gossamer wings

wilt in collapsible softness;

death dust crumbling

between my fingers. I am a saviour

too human and unkind with hardened,

lived-in skin.


Butterfly season. His jaws crushing

life quietly, a gentle snapping

of teeth and tongue. A shadowy

plaything, antennae reaching for a sky,

darkening, before swallowing

the mahogany whole; a distant honey.

Perhaps, this is poetry. A predatory wait

before the consumption of flight,

leaving a half-emptiness growing

in my stomach, never satisfied.


Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

My poetry collections:

Flowers on the Wall UK

Flowers on the Wall US

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

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