Frostbitten Butterfly Wings

Sugar's fading in the basement
seeing red starry lights.
Drowsing in the remains of confetti
in strawberry pinks and periwinkle blues.

Mama's in the backyard
In the blood stain'd orchard
with her feet resting
in a pile of gold and glitter sand.

Sugar's mind begins to wander
to the time she kissed him,
the countless thousand and one times,
her black emerald, pulsing in the midnight breeze.

Burn the world, as it melts away
Into a seafoam hued watercolor painting
And take this sickly bile colored sky
away from here.
It doesn't belong here.

And neither do I, Sugar thought,
her legs beginning to pull her up,
ripping flesh from the viscera beneath
as she pulls herself from the honeysuckle floor.

Mama's languishing,
in a pink cranberry lace nightgown
and a bottle of Jack in hand,
watching the horizon
for the next atom bomb.

The flowery ghost of the old chintz wallpaper
grinding to a halt,
the whisper and echo of countless screams
a million and one screams,
holding her to the floor.

Sugar left that night,
Sugar left that night,
but not through the front door,
But not before,
the frostbite came on butterfly wings,
making her unknown again,
unconscious again.

Sugar left that night to a land of sepia hued dreams.
Dec. 1 2009