KILLER WHALE JOURNAL OF POETRY

Resurrection Myth

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Like her brother Icarus,
the moth desires blinding light,
and flies a bit too close.
The reader knows
what happens next:
the chitinous scales erupt
in flame and she madly spirals
into the night like a flare,
marking the ground
where her body, dismantled
ash, dropped upon the grass.
But reader, look away.
Her forewings still tremble,
a threat to rise again.

++++++M’Bilia Meekers

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