Monday, January 16, 2017

White Moth Sacrifice

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.
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.

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