In the 19th century, Henri Fabre tried to discover the mechanism by which peacock moths, who live only two days, attract mates. He died, not knowing.
She wears dark-red velvet
with an ermine collar.
A purple, white, and chestnut eye
adorns the skirt of each wing.
For two nights
myriad pale shapes
big as birds
flutter around her cage.
On the third,
we find her dead
in an empty room.
In our candlelit
single file
up the stairs
we too are ghosts.
We too have no mouths.
Latest posts by Lola Haskins (see all)
- Fire Ants - December 7, 2014
- The Great Peacock - August 12, 2014
- Two Poems - January 14, 2013