The News For Parrots ~ Always With The Djuna

 

THE YELLOW JAR

White butterflies are creeping near
    This yellow jar where rose-leaves lie,

Like simple nuns in gowns of fear,
    Like humor and like tragedy.

And down they steal with throbbing wing
    Across the pool of shadows, where

That other bowl of dust is king
    With blossoms past, with tear, with prayer.

One was the rose you brought, and one

   Was you. The symbol lied—it seemed

You were the summit of the sun;
    Now you are less than that you dreamed. 

 

In life we loved you, and in death

   There is devotion for you, too; 

Only the witless human breath

   Is mourning for the death in you.

   

Yet what of you, I wonder, stands

   Without the stillness of the room,

Beyond the reach of rising hands,
    Still smiling at this china tomb!

White butterflies are creeping past
    The jar of death, the yellow jar;

For butterflies are not the last
    To sense things are not as they are!

                                                                              Djuna Barnes