A moth flits its way around the living room landing on a painting by the large window.
The watercolor includes an old glass bottle—like the ones Coca-Cola makes—
which sits on a brown table with a wooden cooking spoon, and there is a tall white candle in a silver holder.
The painting was done by one of my favorite local artist’s, a real character who I enjoy chatting with.
This small moth has chosen to rest right at the top of the candle—near the wick.
“Ha! lucky for the moth, the candle is not lit” I think.
Just then, our black cat leaps onto the back of my recliner, and in full extension with her left paw
plucks the moth off the candle, and gobbles it down in one swallow.
I get up, walk over and straighten out the painting,
careful not to disturb our black cat licking her chops.
3 thoughts on “Hour Four: Moth”
I love the shift at the end of the poem: how the moth, lucky that the candle is unlit, ends up eaten. The imagery you use to set up the poem evokes the scene nicely, as well.
Fool of a moth! Love this – so whimsical… and such a typical disdainful cat – no respect for luck. Was it black?
Yes, it was black! Thanks for the feedback.