by Hollis Kurman
If butterflies could claw deep, draw
blood, not just light and flutter, then
they would be our conversations, our not
touching, anchors as winds steal pages,
flit and table tilt, our magnet energy and its
skittish opposite; our breath unbreathed.
All sleight of wing and distraction, the
burn and zag turning heads despite
bright blossomed backgrounds, touching
just enough to stir, heal, droplets recalling
pools, occasional oops, never long enough
to wound or unwind, unholy time this time.
Hollis Kurman lives in Amsterdam and is contributing Editor on the Board of Barrow Street Books. Her poems, one nominated for a Pushcart Prize, have been published in multiple journals; e.g., Barrow Street, Rattle, Phoebe, OSR, and Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine. Her début children’s book, Counting Kindness: Ten Ways to Welcome Refugee Children, will be published this year in eight countries with an endorsement by Amnesty International. Eva Mantell lives and works in Princeton, NJ. Her artwork has been exhibited at the Jersey City Museum, Hunterdon Museum, Bernstein Gallery at Princeton University, The Institute Library in New Haven, and Soho20, and is upcoming at Ellarslie Museum in Trenton, NJ.
2 thoughts on “And Now”
Just wow! Don’t know how you did it, but you did!
Thank you for this lovely comment! I’m so glad you liked the poem…