BUTTERFLY HOUSE

Arts and Culture
Written By Scott Robinson

Photo from Unsplash.

Your arms flung wide, your face with wonder shone,
Bright wings on every part of you. “They went
Right to her!” the awed teacher said, as soon
As she’d unzipped the caterpillar tent.
Two years they did it, in butterfly houses
Until, when you were six, they came no more.
I ached to watch you stretch your fingers out as
You longed for them to light there as before.
Some things we each must live ourselves, but tell
The story as some single grand event.
“No more will earth yield up its increase!” fell
The doom, as forth from Paradise we went.
Time was, you could. Now, you no longer can.
We grow. It hurts. This is the Fall of Man.

Scott Robinson

Scott has one of those résumés that give HR people a migraine. He grew up amongst the glacial hills and lakes, and long, cold winters of Central New York. He has worked at Renaissance Faires, as, variously, an actor, musician, and a Tarot reader, and at one faire he met his wife, Allison. He taught college music for ten years, then studied to become an Interfaith Minister, in which he concentrated on hospice chaplaincy. He is a professed member of the Third Order of St. Francis, a religious order within the Episcopal Church. He has recently begun the study of Druidry, as part of his quest to "free Christ from his Near Eastern captivity." He has early onset Parkinson's Disease, which is making him less inhibited every day, God help us. He lives in Philadelphia.

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A COMEDY ABOUT DEATH