White Moth Sacrifice
Wings beating so
fast, they were a blur,
The white moth flew
near the patio ceiling.
She did not move
far, only inches.
The better to
camouflage himself, the white frog in the corner
Moved higher,
closer.
I thought the moth
would fly away,
But, as if
hypnotized, she stayed in place.
The frog leapt
toward her, and paused,
Hungry, yet
fascinated by the whirling ivory wings.
Immobile, I watched
the drama play out.
Wings still beating,
she crept closer to him.
I wanted to wave my
arms, to toss something to startle her into flight
Or the frog into retreat.
Or the frog into retreat.
Hypnotized myself, I
did nothing.
Instead, I continued
to watch as she moved even closer,
As if offering
herself—her life—as an ivory sacrifice.
A snap of the frog’s
mouth accepted her sacrifice,
The beat of those
white wings ceased,
And then they
disappeared.
I felt a twinge of
sadness and regret.
In vain, I tried to
soothe those pangs and said aloud,
“It’s nature.”
I am not soothed,
and instead
I remember that white
blur of wings
Against the
darkening night.
