i know that, really
it's nothing special
but i like them
they don't dress up like butterflies
and pretend to not be bugs
i know they are always around
they don't materialize with this ancient melancholy
i am not being visited, they want the light
i am in the light
i know there are large bugs in the woods my father's mother owns
so a tattered screen battered by a big thing
doesn't mean it settled for me
or wagged its feelers at me
just because the snores of my mother's now-husband sound surprisingly tiny
through the inner walls of the motor inn
i know i attached that symbol.
still...

the night on that long trip west in winter
during my seven minutes of connection to the mainland
i saw the cc:all they were engaged
and i finally needed to slink away from my not-husband's mother to crack
quick, away from the other 2998 humans
to the closest corner i could find
above stairs that went nowhere
quietly, i sobbed into dabs of rain on the deck rail
the ocean rolled ink in every direction
and out of the black, the biggest fucking moth i've ever seen flew over my shoulder
i had no reason to bring my phone so i couldn't capture the thing that could cover my face
the moment was the moment only
for me, only
to not ignore
so i cried
harder
until i calmed enough
to say goodnight

---
i'm still afraid of the dark, she says
me too, mom. me too
---

I started writing this two nights ago, now. I was sitting outside at 330a, listening to the brook, trying to handle my overwhelmed emotions, writing this damn thing that is now both too long and too short, and thinking about being visited by animals and tricks of light, when suddenly this strong grey cat came down the path, and walked his head right into my leg, back and forth, asking to be thumped, not just petted. He scratched and rolled on the doormat, he looked at the door, demanding to be invited in. He stared at me, seriously. Too seriously. I felt invaded. He laid with his front paws over the edge of the deck and watched the brook. He bonked my leg with his head again until I gave him appropriate pats. He looked back once, then went down the path, around the bushes. Maybe I was supposed to follow.

This morning, I asked the owner about the grey cat, since she already has one friendly motel cat roaming about. She said she'd never seen a grey cat. So I guess I'm allowed to feel like it was the moment, only. For me, only.