Matchbox Moth

On loving something brief that will last forever.

She didn’t make it in her time
her pheromones missed the right guy
just a few almosts, that’s really it.
Even if she found the one, what about
the right bark, stone, or leaf?
So she hid in the cosy bicycle shed
while other mommy-moths laid their
eggs and vanished having filled
their small life’s purpose.

She fluttered on a tread and tasted
a spring’s ride in the country,
green grass and flowers. Her
sampling of the air became
the memory of spring, a fleck
of dust. A splinter of wood
near the window held the
bark of a dog who’d drool
when he smiled.

The little girl wandered into the shed
and giggled. The dusty bug watched
and wiggled. A dry tendril touched a
sweaty fingertip. “How did you end up
here, little friend?” “fluff fluff fluff fluff
fluff fluff fluff fluff.” “Then hop on my hair,
I’ll take you there, you’re gonna live in
a red matchbox, sleep on cotton wool
and drink my tears. Eat jelly bears,
chocolate and fries. I’ll read you Moomin
Valley and Peter Pan. I swear you’ll never
have to die.”

The little moth had never even thought
about death, hadn’t mulled over time,
but she did like the way the little girl
didn’t shy away from sharing jelly bears
and chocolate. She liked life very much,
even if she had been allocated to the grainy
walls inside a matchbox. It meant she meant
something and she’d only ever wanted
to mean something.

They laughed and danced and flew.
Drank orange juice,
and watched Adventure Time.
“Don’t worry, little moth.
Death has no reign in my room.
You will not die.
You’ll lie in your cotton wool bed.
In the matchbox under my pillow.
Next to the necklace with my milk tooth.
Live in my sweetest dreams.
And never wake up.”

The little moth snuggled
her tiny feet into cotton
and slipped inside another
dream, one with giraffes
with miles of mottled necks.
When she rubbed her eyes,
with her tiny, furry antennae,
she flew out of the matchbox
and settled into strands of
the little girl’s hair. Tucked
there, she had the curious
sensation of finally being
herself.

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