I remember a long time ago now sailing with my father and his wife off the coast of the Dominican Republic. Although there were swells, the wind was low so the sea was actually very calm. We came across a butterfly lying still, floating on the surface of the ocean, and I thought to myself, “aw poor butterfly, didn’t make it, couldn’t fly all the way across the water.” Just as those thoughts were passing through my head, the butterfly which had been on it’s side righted itself and flew away. I remember the distinct feeling I had in response at that moment: that nothing that I believed to be true may actually be true. It certainly never had entered my mind prior to that experience that is was possible for a butterfly to lie down on the water and then be able to fly away.
About 10 years later, I was at Glide Church in SF downstairs after singing at the service when an obviously homeless woman came up to me and tried to sell me some of her poetry. Being in the spirit, we talked and laughed and hugged and I bought her poems, poorly photocopied and stapled together, edges bent. I took the poems home and read them and was deeply touched by what I read. I wrote the following poem afterwards:
Butterfly, You Surprise Me
Butterfly, you surprise me.
I see you homeless, toothless, youthless,
And I hold you long and tell you that I love you,
Yet mid-embrace I judge of you,
Entrapped in my mind is your ignorance, your fault.
“Buy my poems” you plea, you insist.
Butterfly, Poet of Consequence, you surprise me.
Once upon a time I sailed to a butterfly,
Lying on its side far from shore on the smooth rolling ocean.
Poor butterfly, I decree, must have died in the crossing.
And then it rose from the water and flew.
And in that moment, all that ever could be believed certain became suspect.
Butterfly, Poet of Consequence, Katherine, you surprise me.
Your words rose from the consuming ocean of my mind,
And flew.