Of all the hues of summer,
I remember you as pale
yellow, with little shimmer,
your name unpleasant smell.
Not legend, like the monarch,
or glamorous swallowtail,
or self-important admiral;
I didn’t see you well …
until you left the garden,
and only now I tell
you, they say you bring good fortune,
happiness and wellness,
joy, rebirth, and youth.
(Perhaps I’d been deceived
by appearance, from the truth.)
The ancient tribes believed
you manifested souls
of children they had cherished—
if seamen glanced at you
pre-voyage, they would perish.
How many souls shimmered
before my eyes this summer,
and how many rebirths
while I ignored
your timid color?
