Moth

All is dark in the house.
She walks quietly on bare feet to the screened door.
Dark night’s moon lights the lawn.
Staring, she sees a moth is resting on the wire mesh.
Thoughts of the past and present call her.
Opening the door, noiselessly, she slips out and sits.
Cold concrete and dead, red bougainvillea blossoms lie at her feet.
Large, sad eyes stare out and see what?
Sighs and liquid pupils give the only hint.
Proud profile seems lost in dark shadows,
Masked by the smallness of her surroundings.
Surroundings that cannot hold her future.
Closing her eyes, she moves out of the dark, off the steps,
Out of the small town, and the trap it represents.
Without knowledge of her destination,
She goes, wounded, clasping red blossoms as a remembrance.
For one moment she is lost, smiling,
Then tropical breeze touches her lips and she rises.
Turning she enters the house.
The moth flies toward unseen lights.

Kent Speer

Contents Page

Back Home

E-mailme with your comments or suggestions on this page! Anything and everything is welcome.


This page hosted by GeoCities Get your own Free Home Page


1