the fate of winter moths
sitting on the stoop,
concrete sodden with
the chill of late
winter. the air
acquires a coolness
like your first breath
after confessional.
the christmas lights
illuminate the porch
in a motley of whites
and oranges. the
tangerine glow casting
warmth while the sun
is taking his smoke
break. Two sounds
permeate the crisp air
rising up to my ears
like a swan through
inky lake water:
the languid boughs
sighing in the wind,
scraping their emaciated
limbs together in
contemplation and the
fatal buzz of my
neighbor’s bug zapper.
It stands watch like
a plum King’s Guard,
never resting in his duty;
an amethyst firebrand.
The absence of the
mosquito’s persistent drone
is chilling, and its deafening
vacancy amplifies the
cruel cut of the bug zapper.
In this quiet cacophony
I think that letting moths
fall prey to an
undeserved, mauve, electric
death is the cruelest
thing I’ve ever known.
I creep back up the
steps and cast a wary
look into my neighbor’s
grimey window and am
shocked to see them
sleeping peacefully.
- © Corey Bryan 2023
Corey Bryan is a fourth year student at Georgia State University majoring in Rhetoric and Composition. He is currently writing daily poetry prompts, along with some original poems, with a friend of his at poetryispretentious.com. He hopes to publish a book of the same name some day.
No comments:
Post a Comment