Sorry Poem – Miranda speaks to her lost child

i am sorry
my lost one
that choosing a name for you has taken so long
it’s just we had to find it for you
when we were swimming in the butterfly tears

i thought
i knew it before you were born
but we you were here and gone so soon
the name we’d picked didn’t seem to fit you
not just right

i thought we needed a name
that said something about
where you were going
and where you came from
perhaps two names side by side
to keep each other company

so it was that Nevaeh
meaning heaven came into my mind
and then Tuwa from Hopi
meaning Earth

i wish you could have felt the earth
beneath your bare feet
just once
so you could remember it

so my little butterfly girl
Tuwa Nevaeh
may your flight
from earth to heaven
be a flight
from the cocoon of the
love from Jackson and i

may you emerge with wings
from the brief touch of our fingertips
and the dreams we had for
you that will never be

Tuwa Nevaeh – tiny princess
forever surrounded by
butterflies
it’s time for me to name
you and say goodbye

(c) June Perkins

It felt like time to return to the story of Miranda and Jackson, but this time using some of the techniques and styles suggested by Sidman’s poetry prompts. I’ll start with the ‘Sorry Poem.‘ This is a character poem from the series on the Story of Miranda and Jackson.

It’s only the beginning

I can’t censor it
my imaginary name for you
forward rolls out of my mouth
‘Dan Nomad.’

You laugh at my guess
at your name, shake your head
‘Jackson Wheeler’ you gently reply.

‘The Deborah Conway song
‘It’s only the Beginning’
pops into my head
my mind is lost
daisy chains are made

I am doing cartwheels in the park
diving into multicoloured
rippled water
are you my ‘love of a life time?’

I am already walking
hand in hand with you
my butterfly man

I see our children’s
fingers
intertwined with ours

this is our beginning

Jackson Wheeler I think I knew even then
you were the one
my sweetest day dream …

(c) June Perkins

Miranda is back again, and she has found out the name of her true love.

What’s in a Name?

The issue of names
would come up once again
when their child
still wriggled in the womb.

This unborn child
loved to kick to Opera.

She didn’t want to think about
the lost child
and had been avoiding opera lately.

But this man from the butterfly house
who she walked beside
what could his name be?

She had to read what his face said
open with dark eyes she couldn’t see into
but wanted to.

He was almost precisely her height
putting them on an equal footing.

He moved lightly
as she glided besides him.

What about names that went with
hers?

Could this be a test?

Could his name be Ferdinand?
What if his name was Caliban?

Could people really be matched by name
or astrology, or perhaps his name was something
to do with the birds he loved?

Peregrine?
Merlin?

It would be so strange
to meet another who seemed to be
named just for her.

She opened her mouth and the name
she thought he should have tumbled out …

(c) June Perkins

Miranda wonders about names, could she have just met Ferdinand?

Our First Walk

2014-08-16 002 — Rainbow on my Path – June Perkins

Our first walk
past the rainbow mosaics on the path
developed the beginning of
our short hand.

His short sentences about working as
a falconer
had me intrigued.

I had heard of this ancient art
but never before met a practitioner.

We could barely breathe words into the world
of our first meeting.

I didn’t know where his sentences
would end and he kept leaving me
wanting to know more

I would later discover he had a tendency to leave
them hanging …

like cliffhanger.

When I asked him his name
he countered me with a question.

What do you think it is?

Miranda discovers her true love is a falconer, but she still has to guess his name.

What do you think Miranda’s true loves name should be?

Meeting Love

I met him at the butterfly house
in the zoo.

I remember butterflies
settling all around him
drawing attention to his presence.

He was so still.

A small girl, with a rainbow hat,
watched the scene
but she giggled and jumped
– the butterflies scattered.

Delighted at their flight
she grabbed her mother’s hand
and they moved on to follow the butterflies
further into the enclosure.

But my eyes could not;
they remained on the still man
who seemed to remain in a sublime moment.

He blinked and then
looked straight towards me.

I blushed
to be captured staring
which was not something
I normally did so indiscreetly.

A smile settled in his face
and he said ‘Whenever I come here I remember home.’
this was our opening .

I would usually have brushed such a greeting away
as I liked to keep to myself
when out in public places
where everyone was a stranger
but something drew me in,

‘Where’s home?’

‘Queensland’

‘Ah you have great butterflies there,’ I ventured.

‘Yes, we do.’

I waited for more,
but he simply began to walk
and so did I.

Butterflies were our beginning.

(c) June Perkins

Perhaps it is more poetic prose than poetry, but the adventures of Miranda continue. Before we journey through her grief we meet her finding love in the butterfly house.

Miranda’s Loss

butterfly eat — June Perkins – Butterfly

(I)

In my skin
there’s a butterfly
forever captured
dancing to the beat of my sweat.

It’s dedicated to
the memory of my lost child.

At the moment I keep my weight constant to
keep her memory alive.

But if another child should arrive
and make my skin stretch
maybe it will be time to let go
so the tattoo can mark my
journey back from grief.

Maybe then I’ll have a new tattoo to
celebrate the child I
am finally able to have
perhaps another butterfly.

Am I lost,
to mark out my grief deep into my skin?
To feel the tattooist working the picture into my skin
that is nothing compared to grief.

The pain of losing my
child’s heart beating
inside of me
is too much to bear so

I had to bury it in
the butterfly tattoo that
perches on my back.

(c) June Perkins

This poem is written as a character, and not me personally. I am thinking her name will be Miranda.

I wonder if she will name her lost child. I walk through this character’s grief and recovery and will have her speak to people she knows about how she is feeling, or not, or maybe go find her favourite camping spot.

I will concentrate on her journey to see where it takes me. I feel like writing poetry as fictional characters for a while.