Size / / /

The white moths that fly at night are believed to be

the souls of the dead.

I have wondered about them;

what they do

with eternity on their hands.

The uselessness of time

at the end

of breakfast, bedtime, dinner and sunrise.

Perhaps they rearrange the dust,

snip the hems

of each falling snowflake.

Perhaps they come back, drawn

toward our lights,

small warmths unconscious of the sky

snug in their own purposes,

never measured

against the cold glory of moonlight

dropping its white petals just outside

the locked window.

They beat on the glass with their papery wings.




Jacqueline West's work has appeared or is forthcoming in journals including Chizine, The Pedestal Magazine, Aberrant Dreams, Mythic Delirium, and . She currently lives, writes, and teaches English in eastern Wisconsin. Her work has appeared in Thou Shalt Not. . ., a collection of crime and horror stories.
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4 Nov 2024

“Did you know,” the witch says, “that a witch has no heart of her own?”
Outsiders, Off-worlders {how quickly one carves out a corner of the cosmos, / claims a singular celestial body as [o u r s] in the scope of infinity}
Lunar enby folks across here
Wednesday: The 2024 Ignyte Award for Best Novel Shortlist, Part Two 
Friday: A Place Between Waking and Forgetting by Eugen Bacon 
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By: KT Bryski
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