the moth

when he slammed

his shot glass down

and wiped his mouth

with his arm

he told us:

 

my soul is gonna try to escape

tonight. I can tell. I can

feel it flappin its wings

dusty and worn. see

that mason jar?

put it on my mouth

when I fall asleep.

that’s when it’ll try to fly out.

rip off a piece of my shirt

and tie it with my shoelace

when the moth flies into the jar.

can’t let it fly away.

that’s my soul.

you could

put a rock or stick with it

to make it feel

more at home.

 

he arched his eyebrows

we half-believed him

and said we would.