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moths
by Deborah S Reganhe moths walked past your bathroom light
Waiting in jeans, for hours
Blue ones with the outrageous cuffs
they were drinking, later
When I opened the door to the
hallway, and they crept along
the crack of the door
that reassures us in and out of bed
(the house isn't dark)
The blue and yellow parts of me
Sang to them; mothing towards
me now.
NEW METAPHOR??!
Down in the beige carpet, crumbs
conglomerate, plateless food
lingers on the edges of sofas
And the ketchup moistens my face
souvenirs for your apartment.
Our clothes silently make
love on the floor
your slacks met my underwear
and your socks bought
my bra a milkshake.
but all the secrets of the world
are kept on the floor anyway
(somewhere in Marrakesh)
BACK TO THE MOTHS -
These old shirts- now the holes
fray out into impossibilities. no wearing
the past-sleeves into the night,
the moths are pointing their suck-tubes
towards the endless closets
of the day after midnight (and the
light's on)
01/09/2002 Posted on 01/09/2002
Copyright © 2024 Deborah S Regan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 05/15/07 at 08:36 PM i've been reading your poems, and you seem to have perfect understanding of the balance between concrete and abstract. i just love it. i see a lot of my own writing style in yours. i also enjoy your titles |
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