At first, I thought it a monarch
and held my breath so it might land
and feel safe on the Queen’s lace,
unlike the fields laced with pesticides
it must cross as it journeys each winter
to the fir forests of Mexico.
But the black line of distinction
across lower wings tells me it is a viceroy,
a name of sovereign authority, a butterfly
similar to the monarch but not one to migrate.
Instead, it curls itself inside the willow
or poplar leaves and waits for spring to unfold.
The viceroys are plentiful, the monarchs few.
Until one day, a butterfly bush beckoned
and six monarchs descended from the sky
to swarm the sweet white tubular flowers,
as did the painted lady and the white admiral.
As for the viceroy, it remained loyal
to the Queen Anne’s lace, abundant in the fields
this August day, as were the pollinators
sipping the nectar in nature’s garden.
Monarch butterfly, White Admiral, Painted Lady
Mary McKSchmidt
Daughter of Jane and Harry McKinney
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