Won't Hurt Her

Words are building a dormant bomb
deep inside my chest

I stumble across the detonator that I was never supposed to see.

My skin could peel away, smoking
and the butterflies I have kept
hidden in my ribcage would
flutter to freedom in emancipated excitement. 
They'd slip past my fingers, even as I reach for them
and their escape would leave me hollow. 

I choose not to be explosive.
Instead I count the butterflies carefully
and put up a wall of shatterproof glass
to keep them where they are trapped.

I swallow them deeper
to keep them inside
where they are safe
and no one can see
what mama doesn't know.