- Moths XXIV
His absence alights
on whatever mess I’ve made
for dinner, and it is stricken.
Keats says “death-moth”
in the “Ode on Melancholy,”
death-moth, death-moth, the sound
fills your whole mouth.
Through this and other methods
the moths have got inside me. [End Page 161]
Marina Weiss’s poetry is published or forthcoming in Tin House, Narrative, Canteen, Parallax, Painted Bride Quarterly, and elsewhere. She’s a former entomologist, an avid etymologist, and a research assistant in Columbia University Medical Center’s Department of Behavioral Medicine.