Of Butterflies and Hurricanes

This is an older poem I'm linking to Pot Luck Monday!





Tiny butterlies flap their wings
high in my chest, in the back
of my throat, sending sparks up the
sides of my neck, prickling my scalp.
They spread into my chest, growing
into sparrows or wrens stealing
the space where I breathe, filling the
hole where my heart was with chaos.
I breathe long and slow to settle
the havoc, but to no avail.
The pounding penetrates to my
back where an eagle spreads his wings
bruising my rib cage, clawing my
wounds, pecking at my pain.
A hurricane, the energy
breaches my diaphram and roils
my gut, leaving me heaving with
nausea, tingling with thorny sweat
gasping for air.

© cj Schlottman 07/10/10