Unappreciated Butterfly

    I think I was on a balcony overlooking the whole thing.

    ——Yusef Komunyakaa "April Fool's Day"

    No soon， no hard loan， no geometric woodwork

    to make you feel at home. No soap， no anonymous

    bourbon， no portrait or copy of a portrait painted

    by some writer or star or family member or any

    other-than-artist person. No short drop

    （you were fifteen floors up）， no secret way

    out， no voice of self-hatred （which you are at least

    used to）。 No past tense. Sometimes no tense at all.

    Sometimes not even an all or nothing. Sometimes

    not even a real estate dream， not even a frame，

    not even a framework. A balcony but not a back

    kitchen porch. A woman hanging out her laundry

    but not hanging out. Railroad tracks and motor-

    cycle gang around the corner but not a ticket

    or a destination. Not even the sense of a weird

    dead end. Not a lemon or a sun. No children.

    No stories about children， no crooked arrow.

    No ghost named Leslie or Vallejo. No C. No M.No J.