A Butterfly Devoured the Lake and Left You in the Crater

by Flora Soper

​There were bodies in the lake with us,

Floating with their watermelon heads ajar.

One was tethered to your hand,

Her face made of white ravens.

I looked too close and caught my

reflection in her skin.

You were feeding a straw dog an island.

He had the orange, English sunrise in his eyes.

A constellation swam at your feet and

Purple Hyacinths bled to the surface—

They swallowed me whole.

I created a mountain in my place and

Trapped you in a labyrinth sky.

We were in the wrong house

And the TV was breathing in static.

A butterfly devoured the lake and left you in the crater.

The dog choked and you fed it wallpaper instead.

I counted the diamond dust in the curtains.