And she flew with butterflies


Nothing but nightmares,
And I had that one dream
A single slumber out of too many
Came pleasantly for once
I saw her sleeping,
She did not give up,
She tried not to look upset,
Yet she wanted freedom,
For that weak handshake,
Never truly belonged to her anyway,
So I think, and I think
About the dream I had prior
To my sweet Grandmother’s passing
She had congestive heart failure,
A portable device pumped medicine into her chest,
She’d worn this medicinal fanny pack around for a year,
The big, bulky Velcro strap on either shoulder,
And then I had that one dream
Where she was chasing a yellow butterfly,
And her fingertips just missed the insect
Because she was held back by that damn bag
When she passed away months later,
I threw that bag straight in the trash
I carried her weight, felt her burden
The purse was literally attached to me
When I went back up to the front,
I had the bag off,
Her chains were gone,
And I felt her freedom revived
As she finally caught the yellow butterfly

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