the boys are not wearing
their sun scarves
used instead to ‘net’ butterflies
and i had found a quiet
place to write
[‘shhhhh’ says jerry
as the boys rushed in
‘butterflies’
but he is the
only one talking].
and write i must.
i ‘write’,
narrate, dictate, prepare,
edit, arrange,
publish so much in my head,
in my mind, but
it never seems
to find its way
to anything tangible
real or written,
able to be reviewed
or read.
it flitters away.
like looking up into trees
and beyond the leaves
is the bright blue
of the sky behind.
tiny blue fragments.
you can’t quite reach.
no longer sky
just a colour.
fragmented.
[tita mel! looking me!
tita mel!
butterflies,
beautiful.]
life is always
calling loudly
but can i allow the words
to settle
beyond the noise
and find,
as i know there is always,
as i know there is everyday,
a quiet place to write?
© 2016 Melinda Irvine