My late mom once noticed a lone fly buzzing about. I told her to swat it, but she said it was her friend for the moment. That memory resurfaced when a moth landed on my screen door. It reminded me of how closely we’re tied to everything around us as we move through different stages of existence. We’re never alone, indoors or out, even when we don’t see the creatures that flitter, crawl, or scamper under our floors and amid the foliage. Some wander into our homes, as the moth might have wanted to before it flew off. The moth and mouse in my poem (at bottom) is about all sorts of flighty relationships hopeful for deeper meaning. Though the poem veers from the
Poets and Storytellers United prompt "bones", I will note moths and flies have none, while mice, due to tiny vertebrae in their tails, have some 230, more than the 206 in humans. And oddly, horses, too, have about 206, their tails perfect for swatting flies.
Afterthought: In view of increasing wildfires world wide, I wonder if we are equally a little bit moth, drawn to the light of our screens, and a little bit mouse, hiding from the damage we brought to the environment.
