Fairy Tale Of The Moth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Fairy Tale Of The Moth

(a 55)

 

 

 

In the Amazon there's a moth
who lives by drinking the night-tears
of sleeping birds.

By day she's folded asleep
in deep green chambers where purple frogs
sweat pearls of poison.

If she dreams, it's only by accident.
At dawn the birds fly up, eyes
open for song, tears given

without intent or knowledge
as I give mine, silver life
to the mouths of memories.

 

March, 2024

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted for WGWL at Shay's Word Garden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Process Note: Gorgone macarea is the moth referred to here, one of several species of Lepidoptera who pratice lachryphagy for survival.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image credits: Blue Morpho Butterfly, 1865 © Martin Johnson Heade 

Great Peacock Moth, 1889 © Vincent Van Gogh 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Feral Baby

 

 

 

 

The Feral Baby

 

 

In the dark 

before breakfast I dreamed

that the baby fell on its head. It wasn't

my fault. It just climbed up my shoulder

and jumped. I only borrowed it

because you made me. It wasn't mine.

I am not one for babies.

Nevertheless,

it cried, so I put it in my purse

for the gypsy. She offered to give it a casserole.

  (Or was that use it in a casserole?) I said,

"It doesn't like my purse, but it wouldn't like a

casserole any better." I'm not one for babies,

but I know that much.

 

Finally 

I took it back to you 

at the urban university lab. You put

 a ribbon on it, called it Jean, kissed it.

 It was fine then. I was tempted to

sneak it back to its mother, but

you'd turned her into a starling.

 

And that's how

she came to be my child. 

I'm not one for babies

until they learn how

to fly.

 

 

 

 January 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 posted for 

Shay's Word List #9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note: No babies were harmed in the production of this poem.

 

 

 

 

Images: Creeping baby doll, 1871   Public Domain

Starling Murmuration © Menno Shaefer    Fair Use