By Christopher Fettes
Giant moth fights its shadow,
Battering itself against the garage ceiling,
The day going down to dusk,
The opener’s bulb burning bright.
I pause, waiting to close the door
In hopes it will find its way
Back into the great grey unknowing
Of oncoming night
The season grows short for the moth
And its kind in the latter days of September
Chirping tree crickets remain a background din
Behind katydids’ last creaking
In oncoming winter they will fall quiet,
In some coming spring: Silence.
Christopher Fettes was born and raised in central Arkansas, where he lives with his wife and their beloved pets. He earned both a B.A. and M.A. in English from the University of Central Arkansas. He writes poetry and fiction. He serves as Poetry Editor for Medicine & Meaning and is a reviewer for SLANT. He is the author of a chapbook titled A Loneliness in the Distance Between.