This little butterfly since February 15

went to 18 hours of class
and 120 hours of work
and wrote case briefs
and read statutes
and schlepped every single thing she owned by hand
and by car
and by the miraculous aid of a friend with a van
and by Two Men and A Truck
and piled it all into a new room where boxes tower yet in front of the window where the photos should be
and started a different temp assignment with all new software
and interviewed for a job or two that didn’t turn out
and got new sway bars on the car
and made dinner and coffee
and gave Fran the Accountant some not quite ready taxes
and held a few hands while someone cried
and yes, goddammit, took Sunday off
to bask in the warmth of the Sisters Who Stitch
and no, this year
there won’t be as many butterflies
as have unfolded in Marches Past
and
yes, goddammit, it is breaking my heart.