If I Were a Butterfly

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I migrate like the monarch butterfly,

heading south on one journey

to my father’s house for six weeks each summer

and then later, north, back home.

Teacher told us the monarch travels

up to three thousand miles

to reach their second home.

Guided by the magnetic pull of the earth

and position of the sun

along with a sprinkle of magic perhaps.

Nobody knows exactly how the monarch knows the way.

I have no wings.

I sit curled in a tight ball

in the farthest back corner of the Bronco,

teeth still chattering,

knot in my stomach

as we drive farther and farther

from my home.

If I were a butterfly,

I would spread my newly formed wings

and fly out the window,

lifting into the sky.

I would dance with the wind,

a flurry of orange and black,

in sharp contrast to the blue, blue sky.

And I would fly straight home.