Through My Kitchen Window

Up to my wrists in soap
bubbles and warm water
I tackle the stack
beside the sink,
things that take
a human touch to clean.

The front of my shirt
is wet from stray spray
of water and suds
where I’ve leaned into
the rim of the sink.

I’m lost in thought,
lights off, just enough
rain-soaked light to see.
Movement catches
my eye.

A butterfly flutters
in my back yard
as rain drops thicken
pearly sheets falling
from the sky
beating against wings.

Entranced, I watch,
hopeless, wondering
at the fragile fate
of such a creature.

Take cover I cry
in my head
as the butterfly darts
into the trees only to flit
back into the downpour
before disappearing
from sight.

I think of things that love
the rain –
my garden, the trees,
my children
who don’t yet exist,
the fawn I saw frolicking
just behind the swings.

What of butterflies?
What about me?
Will I put on my rain boots,
plead to play outside
like I did when I was four?

Or will I hide,
seek refuge,
guard my own
fragile wings
when they wet?

-Poem and Photograph (titled “Gilded) by Cheryl Boyer

Cheryl Boyer is a wife, adoptive mom of two amazing children, and author of Counting Colors: a journey through infertility. She often subjects her family to her pen or lens and spends her days home-schooling, working jigsaw puzzles, reading, and sneaking a bit of dark chocolate. Find her at