poetry explained

we (when i say we, i mean poets) write
in order to capture emotion in a butterfly net
and place it in a jar for you to look at.

you are not to touch it.
you can't comprehend it.

but its wings are a colorful geometry of life
and its mysterious beauty is acceptable to you.

so when i say my daughter is an angel
cut from a heavenly mold
and fashioned by God himself,
you nod solemnly.

but what you don't know is what it's like
to sit in the early hours of morning
and hold the warmth of her featherweight body to yours
as you rock gently together in silence.

and if i told you that joy
is watching her eyes curiously examine your face
as her small mouth spreads those cherubic pink cheeks
into a knowing smile,

you would only see a butterfly fluttering in a jar.