The Last Butterfly

 

....The dandelions call to me

And the white chestnut branches in the court.

Only I never saw another butterfly.

That butterfly was the last one.

Butterflies don't live in here,

in the ghetto.

- from The Butterfly by Pavel Friedman*

 

 

I was leaving the house this morning to work in the clay for a while. It is the end of the semester so we have only a few more days to work with wet clay.

 

A butterfly was flitting around my side garden. I've planted long-flowering plants there - for the pollinators and the hummingbirds. I delayed getting in the car to see if I could get a photo of the flutterer.

 

The weather is about to change. We have had a long mild fall. But tomorrow rain and cold are due in. So this may be my last butterfly of the season.

 

Gulf fritillary - Agraulis vanillae (Linnaeus)

 

Butterflies are symbols of resurrection, endurance, hope, and life.** 

I was reminded of my mother (who taught me to plant things the butterflies and birds love), and a poem, a portion of which I have shared above. Pavel Friedman, the young man who wrote this poem, was interned in Theresienstadt, a concentration camp/ghetto in Terezin (Czech Republic). He was later sent to Auschwitz where he died. His poem was found amid the ruins of the camp/ghetto after the liberation.

This poem has been part of many collections of the poetry of children of the holocaust and gave name to a book, a play, and a project at the Houston Holocaust Museum where they gathered and exhibited 1.5 million paper butterflies representing the number of children who died (were murdered) in the holocaust.

Lest we forget.

NOTES:

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pavel_Friedman

**"Google" it yourself.

Full disclosure: I was in the play, "I never saw another butterfly," in high school. I had two lines...maybe 5 or 6 words. I was terrible. The play was amazing and is with me still.