The morning smelled of oatmeal and buttered bread
Mother came to me, and she said
Today is the day. Take this to our neighbors
To share the light, to bring them angels
Mother handed me a container, silver and humming,
And inside, a butterfly that shimmered in the sun
All my training with Mother had led to this moment
Out the door I went, waving to my mother
I carried the butterfly the way she taught me,
Careful, careful, so it would not wake

Holding the case away from my knees

Keeping it from bouncing up and down

Down, down, down the road I go

My footsteps and the humming case disturb the silence

The scorching sun beats down on my green shirt

I look at the strange wire fences

And the large, dry, empty fields

And burrowed foxholes keep appearing in yards

The occasional rumble drifts from far away

Down, down, down the road I go

I walked up the path at the end of the road,

Sunlight warming the ground beneath my feet,

The neighbor’s gate waited ahead, quiet and still,

More of those strange wire fences lined the way,

The front wooden door gleamed softly in the sun.

I set the container just past the wooden door

Opened it carefully

Lifted the butterfly, still and strange, and from inside

Placed it lightly on the doorstep

It just sat there, wings closed, humming softly

I backed away with the case, far, far away, 

Behind a tree with binoculars

Mother had said, come straight back

But from my hiding spot I watched

A younger boy approached, smaller than me

He let the butterfly into his hand

The butterfly sparked

A flash of red, a sharp sound

The younger boy froze, hand open

Red blossomed, quick, everywhere

Shouts, running, falling, silence broken

I ducked behind the tree, heart pounding

Smoke and dust blinded the sun

I saw the empty space where he had been

Mother had said, come straight back

I ran, fast, breath ragged

Past the burrowed trenches

Past the empty battlefield

Past the barbed wire

My heart heavy with guilt

I reached home, body trembling

Mother came to me and clipped a tiny pin to my chest

So small, yet heavier than any rifle I had ever held

The ghost of the butterfly and

The ghost of the soldier I killed weighed me down

The multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.