Unappreciated Butterfly Poem by Michael Burkard

I think I was on a balcony
overlooking the whole thing.

--Yusef Komunyakaa
"April Fool's Day"


No soon, no hard loan, no geometric woodwork
to make you feel at home. No soap, no anonymous
bourbon, no portrait or copy of a portrait painted
by some writer or star or family member or any
other-than-artist person. No short drop
(you were fifteen floors up), no secret way
out, no voice of self-hatred (which you are at least
used to). No past tense. Sometimes no tense at all.
Sometimes not even an all or nothing. Sometimes
not even a real estate dream, not even a frame,
not even a framework. A balcony but not a back
kitchen porch. A woman hanging out her laundry
but not hanging out. Railroad tracks and motor-
cycle gang around the corner but not a ticket
or a destination. Not even the sense of a weird
dead end. Not a lemon or a sun. No children.
No stories about children, no crooked arrow.
No ghost named Leslie or Vallejo. No C. No M.
No J.