A touch of hand to paw, or kind, reaches past
An insect’s legs. After all, we still try
To understand self. Yesterday’s gone, passed
Along to future. Generations. –Try-

Ing to swoosh a giant moth out the door,
It landed on my left jaw, clinging there.-
Bodies of corn on paper towels, floor
My kitchen with after-life wishes. Where

I need to flick the weight of a moth off my
Face, off my lips, off my mind. –When released,
Moth winged back, and slapped my cheek! Tied
To pseudo-dragon dreams.. Laughing, believed

To be special, I turned the other cheek…
And found out I was considered a freak.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 4/13/14