by Rylee Park<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss Butterfly\u00a0
with your sticks of margarine
rock candy crushes
placenta buried in the yard
oh, Miss Butterfly
this mess you\u2019ve made:\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
superimposing petals
undressing like a moth\u00a0
for candle light
two twin mosquito bites
crickets on your end of the line
sirens on mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss Butterfly,\u00a0
i\u2019m not doing so well these days
searing under bonfire eyes
swearing on my grave
livewire kisses,
and in my bed<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss Butterfly,\u00a0
the flame is still dancing at home
won\u2019t you trace your birthmarks back to me?
because this is how we meet.\u00a0
forty-one miles to Laguna Beach
hopscotch arsonists,
dead girls walking,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
you can find me in the mulberry bushes
three quarters past rye lane
spread across dragon\u2019s briar\u00a0
all marmalade on wanting fingers<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss Butterfly,\u00a0
you don\u2019t look well these days
wrist caught in the jam jar
spit up and watermelon tourmaline<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss Butterfly,\u00a0
do you still pray to st. Francis?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
i\u2019ve found religion in alarm clocks,\u00a0
lane lines, folded towels,\u00a0
coconut curry, and bitten lips<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss Butterfly,\u00a0
i told your secret
and got the truth\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n
there is no milk or cream in the fountains
no painted toes or gentle giants
mermaids or missionaries<\/p>\n\n\n\n
just a dozen eggs.
one stick of margarine.
rose quartz.
babies and bel air.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"