Annabelle Bonebrake
Painted Ladies

“They’re about the size of a silver dollar,”
one billion precious anomalies.
How do they share my bland bread-winning
commute? How do they slide
off the slopes of cars without getting smashed?

From the deserts of Mexico
come the painted ladies,
whose bread is flowers.
Like me, all day, following flowers,
and escaping the cold weather.

Like me, coming home, and hoping
to live long enough to make love again.

The rain changes us every year.
Our flowers depend on it.
Better blooms make junctions
between you and I.

We stay delicate, even being flung
down the painted lines as painted ladies.

<< return to the Table of Contents for New Series #7: Summer 2019, Volume 4 Number 1