Fall 2021, Denver
For Kathleen Cain
On a mid-September morning two moths fold
their wings within the front door window curtain.
I place the jar kept for this purpose over them,
one at a time. They obligingly flutter inside
so I can take them out to resume their journey
back to Nebraska.
At least, I think that’s where they’re going.
In the spring they migrate through Denver on their way
to the mountains. More go west than return east in the fall,
a routine outcome of the natural world.
Being my authority on all questions of the moon,
cottonwood trees, native flora and fauna, Kathleen could
verify this for me. In a neighborhood meeting
on turning the last farmland into a park, she once asked,
“may I say a few words on behalf of the prairie grasses?”
Kathleen’s in Nebraska now, seeing her baby sister through
to the end, though older sisters should not hold such office.
My baby brother, born when I was ten, died thirty-five years ago,
gone now more years than he lived. September’s his birth month,
and I remember the skinny little boy who ran to leap into my arms
when I came home from college.
It is an old sorrow, softened at the edges, tucked away.
For now, Kathleen writes, she wipes her sister’s face with a warm cloth,
hugs her, talks to her, in Nebraska, where these moths want to go.
Being there is grief itself but also a blessing. My brother died alone:
that edge of my old sorrow still keen.
When I lift the jar lid, the moths fly out of sight in an instant,
though I marvel at how such tiny wings carry them so far—
so far and back again.
Straight to the heart, Pat. Straight to the heart.
And thanks to you Bob, for helpful editing comments.
Oh, Pat – even though you shared a draft of this with me when Kelly was still alive. I am once again overcome with your kindness, your deep perceptions about life, and our shared love and sorrow over our dear siblings. Thank you so much, my friend. You have no idea how much this means to me. Love & Respect, Kathleen
Dear, dear Kathleen, sending the poem and hugs, all I can do. Love, Pat
You should write more poetry.
Thank you, normando. I wish I would.
Beautiful. I love your poetry!
My favorite
I agree with Phil!
Nag, nag! Thanks, Deb.