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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Going Off-Grid” Down in the Dirt, v169 (the Mar. 2020 Issue) Order the paperback book:

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Butterflies

Stephen Emmanuel Ogboh

A butterfly hatched in my abdomen
—caterpillars early denouncing metamorphosis—
and baby butterflies fluttered in my guts.

            and I told him that I loved him...

He stepped away from my trust, a fulcrum
so that my words fell unto the ground
—eggs that broke and trickled down the village stream.

a man cannot drink the whole stream
or hide an aqueous afloat its slow current
a man cannot blindfold the whole villager.

Tonight
i hang onto the rope of my miss-take
and stand on the edge of his words
—he who is not here and yet is,
s t r a n g e r—
he who almost spells y.e.s but never reaching the s,
he who does not care that i push the words
and die by hanging.

Tonight
the butterflies are still there, breeding
but i loved him, i love him
and i still love him.

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