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December 26, 2012

Christmas Cleaning

A moth died under a rock on the windowsill.
I don't know how long it's been there.
I don't know when the last time was that I lifted that rock.
The rock is black and bubbled, a volcanic rock from Ecuador.
The moth is a soft light beige with darker layered stripes,
with some green in the mix, and a fuzzy hunchback.
The moth is from here.
I wonder what it is meant to blend in with.
Not the windowsill, and not the rock.
It has big round gray-green unseeing eyes and a fuzzy non-breathing chest, or abdomen,
or whatever that segment of an insect is called.
The bee next to it died on the windowsill on its back, legs up in the air and curled to its body.
But the moth was wings up, as though it were alive,
or as though it went intentionally under the rock to rest there,
and die.
I swept both into my open palm with dust and bits of trash.
I know how the bugs got there.
I don't know how the trash did.

Posted by beth at December 26, 2012 11:36 PM

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