Ready, the boy climbs the ladder,makes his way to the edgeand full of faith-- he leaps--expecting flight,finding hot tearsin a red capethat doesn't work.

paint the pony I will ridesoft hues that gather childhoodand thrust forward, to nowhereback again, we turnto plunking calliope tuneloud, round notes, we lift higherhollowed ponies with painted ribbonsbetween our thighs,laughter in her eyes-- from 'Paint the Dancing Pony' (a poem)

I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.Without the intricate eyes and velvety wings,graceful splashes of color dancing on the breeze.Airy, delicate keepers of hope.Metamorphic symbols of change, growth, maturation.... I do not want this world without the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from 'A World Without Butterflies' (a poem)

Nestled... In the dappled Spring sunlightpeeking through oaks, maples, and Tulip poplaris a country house with pale-yellow siding.Across a corner of the weathered,wooden-slatted front porch, a vine lazilystretches to find a spot in the sun.

Mamaw's spirit lingers there, her high-bubbled laughcarrying on like a song, her quiet dignity still holdingtogether the air that holds up this house.

The memories of some pass by, pale shadowswith laughter-- songs I remember.-- Letter-Back Chairs (a poem)

Butterflies and mothsto the flame --- and we are the flame

I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.A place where they only existin oil on canvas or silver trinkets on a chain,in language, legends we pass to the nextgeneration of memory-keepers,a place where tiny ghosts have painted wings.

I made your favorite." Nannie says, her elegant hand trembles,so subtle it hides behind a smile. She listenscarefully,responds quickly, eases the baked macaroni from the oven.We wash our hands with bars of smooth soap in delicate shapes.We are quiet, careful not to touch the glass of doors.We do not leave fingerprints here.