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
