Wednesday, March 6, 2024



I saw it sitting on an old pickup tire,

a butterfly

with sugar on its wings,


as we were wading

through weeds

up to our waists,


brushing our hands

on dandelions

turning our palms yellow,


breathing in sunshine,

climbing an abandoned tractor

in the field


to play—

maybe all afternoon,

maybe all summer.


It was gone

when we headed back

to watch Grandma feed the pigs,


and the dogs

lounging in the dirt

by the porch,


and to dunk our bread

into broth,

and bite into dark juicy plums.


And later,

I thought I saw it

from the window,


on the barn door

near where I had pulled off my boots

to climb a tree


and saw it watching me,

a butterfly

with sugar on my wings.




© 2024 Jennifer Wagner



dVerse Poetics:  Young and Green