Butterfly in a lift

At the changing place of trains,

Below the vaulted glass,

Beneath the concrete overpass,

Between the gravelled tracks, electric rails and

Behind the moving stairs,

Inside the steel box,

For travellers and baggage

(Not more than 19 souls),

It was fluttering.

Translucent green like new beech leaves in a spring breeze

]]‘Doors closing’[[

Fluttering,

 Up against a false sun of neon and grimy plastic

Fluttering,

Beneath the closed cavity of my ribs

Fluttering,

[[Doors opening’]]

A butterfly!

And how my heart ached

As we left, we travellers and baggage,

that butterfly.

Fluttering inside.

]]‘Doors closing’[[

Fluttering,

Heavenward,

Inside the steel box.

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About Jemma

Learning to be both a priest and a human being in the Anglican Church
This entry was posted in Reflections, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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