A Monarchy of Butterflies

Migrating in the fall to escape winter,
living only two to six weeks except
for the last generation of the year,
which can live perhaps nine months.
I need flight, escape, migration, a warmer gathering.


Migrating monarchs – via Flickr

The Fallow Year

It was meant to end this spring.
It was left fallow, without any sowing,
and it allowed for recovery, retaining essentials,
disrupting lifecycles of pathogens by removing hosts.

There is hope with any new growth.

fallow field

Though I was inspired by a field I saw that had been left fallow – unplanted – last year, the poem is also about the past year of pandemic. We were hopeful that the year of that would come to an end after being fallow. Spring is a hopeful time, but I’m still not sure how much new growth we’ll see this year or what we may be able to harvest at the end of 2021.