Aftermath
by Shelley Little

Moths to the moon
These children navigate around me
I cannot hold the helm
I am no compass

This wolf moon pull has taken command
I swell as
the ocean’s rising tide
My port of patience is flooding
Pressure building
The sea walls crack
These predatory powers give way
and thunder through the wall
I will make these insects submissive
I am a terror for a moth-er

Slapping
Splashing
Moth wings
echoing in the aftermath
Struggling to fly
Innocence scarred
in the violence of high tide

Released
I am a puppet
spinning in the consequences
The master waves beating me clean
Pulling my strings
into submission
               
My rave recessing with the tide
Dripping guilt
I scoop up my moths
and huddle them close
Rebuilding the wall