DON’T GIVE THE GYPSY MOTH A FREE RIDE • BY MEGAN GIESKE

URSA LITERARY REVIEW
DON’T GIVE THE GYPSY MOTH A FREE RIDE • BY MEGAN GIESKE

 

Bending in the goldenrods, my brother is brushed

on his arm with the powder of a gypsy moth’s wings.

My brother holds it up by its caterpillar hairs, bent

by the gossamer wind. In a Moxie bottle’s warm neck,

its white heart flutters against the green catalyst of glass,

black antennae and the feeble of its spider legs blowing

like crabgrass in the fall wind. I wonder if he remembers

our shared ancestry—gypsy mothers that hung sheets

between two birch trees like pairs of moth wings

to dry in August—when here, motherless, my bother

pins its wings to an oak to dry like so much laundry.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Copyright © 2016 by Megan Gieske. Originally published in Ursa Literary Review formerly Stolen Island Literary Review on May 10, 2016, by the National Poetry Foundation through The University of Maine.

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