‘The Butterfly Jar’ by Róisín Kelly

I use a jar to trap
the butterfly of my love for you.
The creature flutters, seeking escape.

I examine the opalescent shimmer
of its wings, the furry little head
I could rest the tip of my finger on
like stroking a lover’s pet cat.

This thing bats and bats. For it, the sun
has become glassy and cold,
the notion of nectar bitter and hopeless.

No more the open fields, the drift
from flower to flower, or even a sweet
death on dry earth by the river
below the stars.

It takes a while for the once-
startling blue of the wings to fade
in the glass coffin, like an old postcard

in a dusty room. Then
I stick a pin through it and hang it
on my wall, where it’s useless as a memory
and as lovely to look at.

From issue #2: spring/summer 2016

About the Author
Roisín Kelly was born in Belfast, raised in Co. Leitrim, and currently lives in Cork City. Her work has appeared in The Stinging Fly, Poetry Chicago, Synaesthesia, The Baltimore Review, The Penny Dreadful, Bare Fiction and Poetry Ireland Review.