Poems

Little Butterflies

I remember the dirt streets
and the sprinkler that passed
in the afternoons leaving behind
the carpet of yellow wings
that absorbed water...
beautiful when they were so many
before the insecticides
leave only a few
yellows and oranges
flying in pairs
that remind me of yesterday
more present than the present
until tomorrow or until some
time when they return and the future
becomes the past when
I am a girl again, now
in my seventies

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