avatarRhonda Marrone

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ught bubble in the air, Or A recently departed family member’s soul.</p><p id="c9ad">But the boy never knew The butterfly was there. He just kept bouncing his ball: Plunk, plunk, plunk…</p><p id="6335">~~ <a href="undefined">Rhonda Marrone</a> 8/2021</p><p id="ee76">I was sitting on my porch writing and I heard the boy of 11 or 12 coming up the road bouncing his ball. As he got in front of me I could see the butterfly. It followed right behind him, all the way out of sight. I was too astonished to think to pick up the camera or to tell him to look. I remember after my mother died I saw butterflies everywhere and I took it as a sign that she was trying to tell me that

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she was ok. I wondered if someone was trying to tell the boy they were ok.</p><div id="d53f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/write-for-the-lark-525aba334680"> <div> <div> <h2>Write for The Lark</h2> <div><h3>Submission guidelines for a short story and poetry publication</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*ozt7BP__wDxNylJnDZLoDg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

A Boy, a Ball, a Butterfly

A poem

Photo by Elisa Kennemer on Unsplash

A young boy walks home from school, Pack strapped to his back. He bounces a red ball: Plunk, plunk, plunk…

A lone Monarch butterfly flutters A foot above his head, A foot behind. It follows the boy: A balloon on a string, A thought bubble in the air, Or A recently departed family member’s soul.

But the boy never knew The butterfly was there. He just kept bouncing his ball: Plunk, plunk, plunk…

~~ Rhonda Marrone 8/2021

I was sitting on my porch writing and I heard the boy of 11 or 12 coming up the road bouncing his ball. As he got in front of me I could see the butterfly. It followed right behind him, all the way out of sight. I was too astonished to think to pick up the camera or to tell him to look. I remember after my mother died I saw butterflies everywhere and I took it as a sign that she was trying to tell me that she was ok. I wondered if someone was trying to tell the boy they were ok.

Poetry
Poem
Poetry On Medium
Life
The Lark
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