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)