I hurried
from five blocks down the street
equipped with a jar
and father’s fishnet
so much orange
was more than I expected that August day
the white of milkweed in the field
fluttered with brilliance of orange
a cluster of milkweed and butterflies
two or three
clung to a single stem
while some rode others
on their backs
sun upon their wings
and few would fly
as they sucked a clover flower
I stood and picked
as though they were poppies
to fill my jar
and only when
next to the coolness of glass
did those wings start to pound
wordshophop 