Light flickers through a chink in the window. Moths dance
outside in the low evening light, try to find their way inside,
the way children scramble to reach the popcorn. You think
about how people try to find ways out of things and ways in,
and about the constantly changing landscape of life.
Some scramble for the light, leaving at dawn, while others
remain. You wonder who controls the opening and closing
of windows, the turning of the leaves, the inner turmoil that
drives some to make the decisions that they do. You try to
fix them but some things are not fixable, not your
responsibility. Three moths have found their way in
through the chink and are dancing around the table
lamp. You wonder how many more will arrive and how
many will stay. Remaining through troubled times,
staying in the building, that’s the hard part. Some leave
when it gets too hot, others leave because they are
uncomfortable in their own skin. You wait for the moths
to leave near dawn, after they have settled in the warmth,
then close the window and watch the sun appear, feel
its warmth against flesh. And you know that if you travel
lightly, allowing the sand to sift through your fingertips
the right ones will remain in first the morning light.
FC Malby is a contributor to Unthology 8 and Hearing Voices: The Litro Anthology of New Fiction. Her work is forthcoming in the Reflex Press Anthology, Vol. 5. Her poetry has been published in Spillwords Press, Sledgehammer Lit and Unpublishable Zine. Her social media handle is @fcmalby.