they told us
not to catch butterflies
but to let them
fly free in the wind

and I went home
and told my mother that
we couldn’t capture little
Monarchs and watch them

flutter through our fingertips
and she asked me why
catching butterflies was so
enjoyable

and I told her that
they reminded me of
childhood, with evenings
spent at picnics in yellowing meadows

and mornings with a dusky
misty air soupily surrounding
our comatose
bodies

and she told me that
she still loves to catch butterflies
and watch them fly between
her aged fingertips

because they reminded her
of winters when they
would go down south
and relive the days of heat

and I slowly walked away
remarking to myself
how odd it is
that catching butterflies seemed to be

genetically transferred

like blue eyes or brown hair