By Aanya Kothari
Elena’s poem dives into a man’s absence in his relationship with his wife and children.
beat of a butterfly's wings By Elena Koestel as far as he was concerned, the leeks and the potatoes and the apples and the plums that grew in his garden were the only things that deserved his attention. his wife wakes up at dawn to watch the coffee drip in silence and wake the kids twenty six minutes before they need to be at school. he wakes to the sound of the front door closing— unconsciously avoiding the resentment marring eyes he never cares to meet; he leaves a cup of cold coffee on the table that she drinks in his stead finding solidarity in the bitterness that lingers on her tongue. he gave his blood to the garden to receive dirt under his fingernails in return and gave nothing to a wife who had, once upon a time, synched her heartbeat to his and she gave everything to her children who became orphans when she died who were unable to grieve at their father’s funeral because they mourned while he was alive but the trees in the garden cried apples and plums and let their leeks and potatoes wither with sadness the only reminder that he had loved and lost something somewhere