Three Nights

Night came to me as a moth, with splashes
of starlight on her crepuscular wings.

There was a votive burning somewhere
and her eyes looked like droplets
of melted wax.

It is all the size of a postage stamp,
she said. That was the first night.

Night came to me as a gigantic crow
with galaxies stuffed in his stupendous belly.
He was so gassy and fat he could barely fly.

Things are writ large, he said.
That was the second night.

Night came to me as an old woman
with black holes for eyes.

She had been sucked down a chute
between nebulae. She had tumbled
and rolled for a long lightless time.

Hereafter, she said. More ever.
That was the last night.

Susan Kelly-Dewitt | Interrogative
Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)