Son of Monarchs

The monarch flutters above the ash 
and in its black and orange beauty
exists all day and night.  

It flies up to meet the sun,
the gentle maternal hand 
of life lived in the light.

Only the scent of milkweed
lures it down to ground for  the  
paternity of feasting and breeding.

In its flight between earth and sky, I see 
my mother’s joy, my father’s sadness
and  know I am the son of monarchs.