The Magic of Butterflies
Matt Zambito | Poetry
Thanks to sleight of proboscis and abracadabra
via ommatidia, I’m seeing a Monarch, re-
appearing out of thin air, eating sweet ooze, daring
me to fathom the chutzpah of insects
levitating prismatic from aster to hollyhocks
to phlox and fluttering so incredibly close to flawless
it’d be weird not to worship them daily
until our respective deaths. If there’s anything
bigger than human minds combined, then
I just looked it in its 12,000 eyes, and while Heaven
will be an absolute hoot, we’ve got kaleidoscopic
angels (angels, I tell you!) spellbinding right here
in our atmosphere, including this wanderer
flitting by my face that I’m determined to stare at,
unblinking, until—minus misdirection—it vanishes
from view and transposes to another set of petals (like
that!) enchanting me completely, because how can
these beauties, these peacemakers of flower-love, these
metaphors for the metamorphosing of meaning itself,
these wind-shifters, these winged rainbows incanting
quietly, yes, how can these audacious pollinators,
sharing the same miraculous, molecular stuff as us,
be the presto-chango answer to anything
if not to the unconditional surrender of sadness?
Matt Zambito is the author of The Fantastic Congress of Oddities, and two chapbooks, Guy Talk and Checks & Balances. New poems appear in Tampa Review, Slipstream, Heavy Feather Review, The MacGuffin, Sierra Nevada Review, and elsewhere. Originally from Niagara Falls, he has lived in Ohio, Idaho, Washington, and New York, where he now resides with his rescue dog, Sadie.