How It Was

She drove and the sky turned
cabbage white
the day we argued
with our daughter over
monarch butterflies she wanted
tattooed on her shoulder blade.
To avoid accidents, she became
the road and she wound
around the mountain in shades
of gray. She drove and drove
through lupine valleys
until our voices
lost their syllables
and we didn't worry that her hair
was club-shaped
like the antennae
of a swallowtail.

by John Davis