Moth
24 Moth I’m walking in the morning sunlight, the sidewalk attracts a moth. It looks like it’s wounded since it remains in one spot, fluttering around this one spot. As if it’s either getting sun or else eating a sidewalk bug, I can’t tell. I’m curious and worried for it. I stop walking. I bend my head down, not the entire body. The body remains rigid, hat on straight, looking down as if I were a lighttower whose beam had focused down. A man is walking towards me. Yellow top. Dark skin. Taller than me. He comes closer. The sun streaming through open leaves. Dappled shade follows his long limbs. Patterns of morning looking. I’m sure he’ll wonder what’s made me stop and bend my neck like this. I’ll point out the moth I say to myself. Excited with the possibility of shared discovery. Look at this, I say as he comes towards me. He doesn’t break stride, steps on the moth, and keeps moving. I keep walking. Further down the path I’m in the open sun where the leaves have stopped. I see another moth fluttering on the sidewalk. And then two more. As if getting morning sunbaths or eating special sidewalk bugs, I still can’t tell. I remain rigid, aware of my height as I tower over them. I cross the road where the sun is brightest and there’s hundreds of them. All fluttering low on the sidewalk. Not nature. A grey and brown pattern of wings in flight, staying still. A texture of moving ground. As if the concrete were trying to stand up after a lifetime of lying down. Erupting in waves of failed attempts. ...
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