Her first love,
he gave her a butterfly,
a beautiful, iridescent thing
stuck in a jam jar
Her second love,
he took away the butterfly,
sold it for a nickel,
and left her a fist in the face
Her third love,
he gave her many butterflies
etched in pretty coloured ink,
they lived free on her backside.
Intense look from his eyes caused Brigitte to peek over her shoulders. No one there, except the wall.
“The gentleman from the symposium.” “Of course, it couldn’t be me that he is admiring.” “No one notices wallflowers or do they?”
Mama despairs that she would be left on the shelf.
”Don’t slouch Brigitte!” ”Wear a smile, you shouldn’t scowl so much!”
Auntie Agatha tut-tutted at her bumbling attempts at playing the piano, violin or knitting.
”Don’t frighten off possibilities with too much knowledge of tomes, ruins, horses and butterflies.”
”Men do not appreciate too much intelligence her sage counsel.”
Tired of no dance, a breath of fresh air is required. A flitting moth of unusual colour catches her eyes and she ventures to discover; new addition to my glossary she thinks.
Over voluminous skirts she trips into the Rose bush.
Strong arms encircle to help her up as she mouths her thanks into intense gray eyes.
Unwittingly, she has captured her own Tiger butterfly.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to the FFfAW photo prompt above. Thank you TJParis for the photo and Priceless Joy for this challenge platform.