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Moths
by CJ Muchhala

When you write, simply tell me something.
Maybe you can tell me how we should live.
-William Stafford, Writing the Australian Crawl

Dear Bill,
I am writing to
tell you about the moths
battened on the windows:
their dusty wings outlined
in the absence of light,
their furry bodies yearning
for the glowing
coals I tend. Over time
they learn calm,
press warm and pulsing
centers to the glass.

They seem to say,
Be still. Let light catch you,
the way your poems, Bill,
caught me.

Some never catch on
and beat their wings ragged.

Published in slightly different form
in The Other Side, v. 31

 

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