Is a cancer spreading across the land. Self righteous, indignant mysoginists take stand.
But butterflies are free, at least that’s what they tell me. That I am a butterfly, transformed from the crazy… the roots of my family tree. I am free. I hold tight to this thought at night… when I remember the roots of my tree rising from the ground, with the most horrific sounds.. a panting, ranting rageful soul standing over my bed… beadlets of sweat pouring off her wild eyed head. And I am a tiny sparrow, shrinking under the beating, my big body is bleading. Again. Not again. Not when she raises her voice and stomps her feet. The roots of this tree are filled with venem.. And I pray for God to release them.
And I am grateful to know what it is to have a broken body, that the beatings were only temporary. To know what it is to raise your hands to a child. I am thankful to the Cancer who hit me. A social conservative herself. Couldn’t see it. Didn’t understand that she inherited a problem from her own dad. And the roots of her crazy tree, so deeply planted.
Butterflies in stomach the day I kissed him. His name was Billy, or Ricky or Brian. But who cared, really what his name was, we stood outside in November, and the snowfall seemed a perfect back drop to my first kiss.
I wrote his name, whatever it was, on the soles of my shoes, as if writing it there would make my feet carry me away with him. And we would eat manogs for breakfast, and live in the water, and grow together…
at 13 nothing made more sense to me.
But we grew older, and colder and Ricky. Billy or Brian stopped calling.
And when I talk to my daughter about boys the very first thing I will tell her, if he likes you, like really, really likes you, he just wont stop calling, and if he does, he never did… but Baby that happens to us all, and I promise you that it wont hurt every time you fall…because all you need is one man, with strong hands to catch your breath…
And our little family tree is a new foundling growing on the shores… and new tiny sparrows find refuge in our branches… and we have no knots, but our bark is strong, and our roots flow with serenity, and our branches reach out into our hands.
And conservatives will tell you that our tree is ugly, and unnecessary… they are the ones who paved paradise to put up a parking lot. And take from large hearted souls every last penny they’ve got. Who use God as a weapon. As if God is a weapon.
And I am filled with great love for the forementioned Cancers above. I forgive them. I even like them. It may not make sense to you, but without them I would not know my compass. I would not know my strength. And my pleasure would not be so sweet.
Because I was a tiny sparrow buried in a bed and now I am but a butterfly flying free overhead.