Butter by Finuala Dowling | Poems Rethabile Likes Butter by Finuala Dowling You know how it is sometimes with butter? How after a free fallow period, you long for it, how it lies shaded in its pale, soft firmness, how it calls to you quietly from its cool clay dish until at last you give in, you make toast: you don't even want the toast — burnt crumbs mean nothing to you — but you but you but you…