Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Moths by Eavan Boland

Pink Sphinx Moth, 2007.  My once in a lifetime shot.

By Eavan Boland

Tonight the air smells of cut grass.
Apples rust on the branches.  Already summer is
a place mislaid between expectation and memory.

This has been a summer for moths.
Their moment of truth comes well after dark.
Then they reveal themselves at our window-
ledges and sills as a pinpoint.  A glimmer.

The books I look up about them are full of legends:
ghost-swift moths with their dancing assemblies at dusk.
Their courtship swarms.  How some kinds may steer by the moon.

The moon is up.  The back windows are wide open.
Mid-July fills the neighborhood.  I stand by the hedge.

Once again they are near the windowsill---
fluttering past the fuscia and the lavender,
which is knee-high, and too blue to warn them

they will fall down without knowing how
or why what they steered by became, suddenly,
what they crackled and burned around.  They will perish---

I am perishing---on the edge and at the threshold of
the moment all nature fears and tends towards:

the stealing of the light.  Ingenious facsimile.

And the kitchen bulb which beckons them makes
my child’s shadow longer than my own.

From:  “New Collected Poems” by Eavan Boland, pages 220, 221


My life is discombobulated and not by a hurricane, but by divorce & domestic violence.  My heart goes out to the people in Texas and Florida who have experienced Mother Nature's wild forces.  I pray for you all to come through this as better people, realizing that life is not about stuff, but about, well, life.  It's what I pray for myself, also.  xo, Marion

1 comment:

erin said...

it's difficult to know what to anticipate, isn't it? that which to fear is there. and that which is pure joy persists. simultaneously. or they take turns.

we practice breathing. and falling. and when we're lucky - flying.

deep breaths. may we all find our way through the eye of the needle and manage.