"Next Year is Thirty" dVerse Open Link #68

We walk two blocks
to the church, your heels
clicking on the concrete.
A butterfly’s sitting on
the sidewalk, we put it
in a nearby tree.

Entering the main door,
we cross our hearts and
bow to candlelit statues —
an altar filled with fruit and photos.
At the end of the aisle
we select a pew
to face the crucifix.

Family arrives in moments,
carrying children, passing
kisses and hugs.
I can sense calmness —
twenty–nine years have passed.

The priest stands before us, elbows
bent to chalice and prayers,
hallelujahs rising to the ceiling.
I can see the notes wrapping
round the room — can the dead
hear our praises?

We gather after the mass,
returning to the matriarch’s house,
passing streets named after revolutionaries.
I look for the butterfly in the tree, I hope
it’s flown to safety in the flowers somewhere.

In your ample home we devote
the meal to your mother —
traditional food and drinks.
With our chairs in a circle,
speaking of older days,
I try to imagine what it was like
twenty–nine years ago.

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