Black butterflies cover the sun, the ones who practiced synchronized flying and studied philosophy in forest institutes. They had intent, not merely instinct. They read Hegel, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, these butterflies, and finally Mein Kampf. They spent summers hovering over the works of Ayn Rand, the pages weighted down with sand.
The sight of the black butterflies reading at the beach had biblical weight, a weight in the head like a cinder block, with the same rough texture. We felt a sourness of the stomach. Everyone fled, all humans, all creatures not airborne, even many species of birds.
Everyone got in their metal-flake convertibles and drove home in shame. It was worst where there was traffic to contend with.
I was the only one remaining. Here is a photograph of me alone on the beach. Even the butterflies are gone. This is me sixty pounds ago.
This is me flying unassisted through Asperatus clouds over Scotland, clouds like sheep’s wool, woven and unwoven, a new type of cloud, a message from God, warning me, as usual
This is me, practicing the pole vault.
MITCHELL KROCKMALNIK GRABOIS has had over fourteen-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes, and. was awarded the 2017 Booranga Writers’ Centre (Australia) Prize for Fiction. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To read more of his work, Google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver, Colorado, USA.