- Neon Mariposa Magazine
Two poems by Amanda N. Butler
Updated: May 8, 2019
An Element of My Own
Sometimes I am fire –
blue tongues lapping at my cuticles
blue veins stoking my beating crucible
palm to leaf, palm to ash
a forest furnished with my furnace
see me direct this drought
as I’m the inferno you couldn’t put out
Sometimes I am water –
waves rolling in low-tide exhales
saltwater words with fresh intention
an undertow of heart and soul,
or a calm that reflects antler’s velvet
scratched on the foaming surface,
letting the bubbles float, and go
Sometimes I am steam –
a burning fog, neither and both
a bilateral union of the
visible and unseen.
Whispering, willowing tendrils,
the sky inhales my billows
until I dissipate in forgiveness.
when I found the beach photo from ‘93
With ginger fingertips I peel the picture from your scrapbook – I never had time to make my own
– careful, careful with the edges – the tape is yellowing, a caution of time –
Before photos faded
to the color of nostalgia –
when family meant more
than names on stone –
I wanted to possess the sunset shore
and take it home in my tiny hands
I flip over the weightless moment – letting myself hope for a message, a date, anything –
(Why, when I try to picture your face,
does the memory of sun burn my eyes?)
There is Me Before and Me After,
and I wish they could meet
so After can tell Before
that they will be okay,
that footprints wash away but
that beach will stay.
At least – in this frozen moment – we are together – you hold my hand –
Amanda N. Butler (she/her) is a queer poet from Florida. She is the author of chapbooks with dancing girl press and Origami Poems Project. She is also the author of the verse novel The Mermarium. Her poems have been published in rose quartz magazine, Haikuniverse, Hedgerow, and others with work forthcoming. She is the Poet Laureate of Oldsmar.