I found this poem that I wrote about twenty years ago. I’m not sure why I chose a moth to represent the sadness I had concerning a relative going through depression at the time, but here it is:
secrets
the hairy moth
of musty secrets
is kept feebly alive
by the cold breath of its ownerpulled out late at night
from its dark and airless tunnel
its Amazonian wings thump dully,
large black eyes faceless and heavy
in the bone-white hand
of its keeper
While the poem doesn’t have anything to do with Mothman, and I certainly wasn’t thinking of Mothman when I wrote it, I notice there is a sense of coldness and loneliness that I associate with Mothman, and some parallels, like the “dark airless tunnel.”
