Palette

Oh crushed monarch,

On sidewalk near Trader Joe's,

I see slash at your abdomen

When I cup you in my hands,

The wound an oozing

Contrast to beauty.

You've traveled continents

On spirit errands,

And here I dash

Through timed-doors

To garner sour-dough.

Vermillion eyelets

Build your ailerons,

And dozens of white grains

Dot the noir scaffolding

Of deckled hindwings.

Scientists have formulated

The blackest of black pigments,

It's copyrighted; even God

Can't use it. And the whitest

Of white has been patented

To bounce sun's rays off

Rooftops. Technicians

Have not yet devised

The ultimate red-orange,

You've kept that recipe

Confidential:

Scales on flexed wings,

With prisms arrayed,

Have absorbed

Ancient glidepaths,

Your airfoil hue

Irreplicable

Laura Stickney 2022

Notes:

noir--black in French

airfoil--a wing designed to aid in lifting

an aircraft by making use of air currents

through which it moves.

photo by Ojai Valley Land Conservancy