Swallowtail in Flight
The butterfly flits down the driveway ahead of me.
I am lost in thought,
and don’t pay attention to her.
Then I see her the next day and the day after that.
She is a swallowtail, black with sheens
of iridescent blue and touches of rust.
She is beautiful and I finally stop to admire her.
“Hi Mom” I blurt out,
realizing the ridiculousness of what I am saying.
My mother said she’d never come back,
but if she did, she jokingly said it would be as a bird.
A butterfly isn’t so much of stretch then, is it?
Especially one that hangs around me
every day on my walks.
I slow down to watch her.
She stops when I stop,
sitting where the grass and gravel meet,
her wings slowly moving back and forth.
Finally, I move and she takes flight
She flies a full 360 around me,
her colorful wings a flurry of motion.
Then she floats away.
“Come back” I say,
And she does, the next day
And the day after that.
Linda Polk Haslanger recently started writing after a forty-year break. Her work has been published in The Albion Review and has been accepted for future publication in Main Street Rag’s “North Coast Voices” Anthology, as well as Purple Aardvark’s Inaugural Anthology. Her poetry was also selected to appear in the 2025 Detroit Lakes Poetry Walk, and she was a semi-finalist for the 2025 Lefty Blondie Press First Chapbook contest. Recently retired, she likes to volunteer and walk in nature.
Amethyst Review 