My Childhood is Escaping Me
My Childhood is Escaping Me found poetry stories

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This poem is a self-portrait. How I grow from a child to an emerging butterfly.

My Childhood is Escaping Me

I walk my horse through an open field of clover—

They cover the earth with their swaying heads of white or pink.

My childhood is escaping me.

Like a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly, molting within my skull.

The cocoon of my mind, a silky cocoon that is emerging the real me.

First, I digested myself, grow imaginal pieces, I will need

to mature in the tree over yonder where the clover surrounds the trunk.

I metamorphosis my mind on the old oak tree in the

core until my mind emerges like a monarch butterfly.

A woman viewed as open-portal, as earth and celestial,

and through granules of the soil in her loveliness, we are birthed.

Because this is my beginning flight its there to venture.

Years of vulnerability, thinking I need to be someone, or something else.

That I needed a man, that I halted like clover along the trodden path

waiting to absorb the summer rain after a month of drought,

to be alone, to imagine that vision of death.

To enjoy it in its solace, a whole host of eyes that wait to

stoop what’s theirs from whats becoming brown and deflexed as the corolla fades.

When I was a child— I didn’t know anything. I attempted. I fled.

I was incognito from grief.

Over time I became rain. It fills every limb, eventually reaching my heart, burgeoning out.

I flutter upon the green stem, white or pink blossom, found the most colorful within myself and flinted off.

A thousand wings, flutteringly free. It sounds like freedom.

I am the migrational pattern. I am wings of color.

©Linda J. Wolff -

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