The fly flew in through the open front door and circled our house for a week, eluding my wife’s attempts to swat it with her bright blue weapon of mercy.
I saw it again and opened the back door, urging it out with the same blue thing she bought—to the bright blue sky and the free air outside, before she stirred.
It hesitated, flew back to me and on seeing the light,
which to it was neither blue nor white— promptly vanished.
What a beautiful poem- meditation on how true freedom is ultimately an internal choice made by the liberated subject, independent of the instruments or intentions of the liberator✌️🌻
Leave a Reply