The Monarch*

"Happy Pills" by Mark Hobley

Offshore

the slime could not be contained

from the broken conduit.

Slithering silently, the deadly poison

spread its venomous tar

up the sand toward thousands of butterflies

beaten by a storm.

The ooze whispered as it rose:

One little prick, a snort, just one,

will hide you from the tossing sea;

shield you from pain;

dampen the sound of change

like thunder leaving.

Take it, little butterfly.

You are stranded here, I can see,

blown off course by a heartless wind.

It is not your fault

that no one is coming to help you,

but me.

Stop struggling, little bug, and I will show you

a new way to be.

See how it feels like freedom? Joy?

I am your new mind, your new body.

Strolling on the beach, a woman saw

the battered butterflies

lying on the cold wet sand.

There were many, strewn like dead leaves

holding the shape of the last wave;

soon to be swallowed whole

by the slick black menace coming ashore.

But one of them pumped his wings

as she watched the monster stalk him.

He was so helpless, so alone,

yet waving for help.

Against the advice of onlookers,

she scooped him up.

In her warm cupped hands, she felt him

pump his wings.

Hurry, hurry.

Get him to shelter,

away from danger.

She set the dying butterfly

on the warm dash,

made a puddle of sugar water,

watched his proboscis unwind,

stretch out.

He drank and pumped

pumped

pumped again

until his wings were dry and full.

She wanted him to stay,

wanted proof he was safe.

But that’s not how butterflies do.

He flew out the open window

and never looked back.

*Inspired by the opioid epidemic in the USA

Sybilla January 23, 2017