"If a man once loved you,he’s turned you into a moth.That’s how he’ll rememberthe flutter: that..."

“

If a man once loved you,

he’s turned you into a moth.

That’s how he’ll remember

the flutter: that numinous,

that beating, that winged.

Angels and moths:

that’s who men love.

But I don’t recollect like that.

I don’t think I ever loved

that gently. And I’ve never

flown toward a burning

house, hoping, maybe

my faith lay in that

single thing left,

in that smoldering filigree.

I never reminisce

a sorrow that delicately shaped.

But sometimes I feel someone remembering

me that way: translucent,

crazy, awake only at night.

He’s regretting his fingertips

were not wide or soft enough.

He’s mourning me now.

He’s imagining me eating away

at someone else’s light.

And that’s perfect.

That’s exactly how

he always wanted to love

me. My wings,

my hair-like antennae

hanging;

my frenulum

between his forefinger

and his thumb.

”

- Olena Kalytiak Davis, “Angels and Moths,” from And Her Soul Out of Nothing (University of Wisconsin Press, 1994)