The Leaving

After “ The Prayer” by Michael Hettich

My sister’s hug was stiff,
arms like tree branches snapped out of shape.
After, she would go and sit on the porch
to watch the leaving:
butterflies maneuvering around long-gone mountains,
the car disappearing from the drive.
I wanted her to tell me what it meant
when her eyes grew distant.
But now, coffee in hand, feet curled into the dirt of the earth,
I understand.
I don’t see them, but I hear their wings,
thousands of them beating a rhythm into my heart