TO A MOTH
By Kelly Hitchcock
I have fluttered my way to many,
Index finger protracted with each
Wavering inch to transcend friendship.
Can I brush the light and escape unscathed?
With a veneer of bravado, I refuse
To heed the warnings; I am too intoxicated
By the brilliant radiance, the allure
Of the light. You are hypnotized like me.
Why do you fly toward the light?
Your dull, earthen wings—twittering—
Wild fanfare stitching haphazardly
Against the textured, white ceiling
Of a drowning, incandescent living room.
Why doesn't it hurt when your feet,
Head, wings graze the flame?
You ricochet off, disoriented,
And rediscover your life's purpose.
Flying—in a trance
Trying—with your dance
To keep from getting too close. Moth,
Come rest on my scarred fingertip.
Oh, let me fly with wild fanfare.
Let me imitate your moronic virtue