back then
the corpse of an old moth
laid stuck and unreachable on a concrete beam of our old school building
covered in dust and soot

it was always a sight for the students waiting on the third floor
in its sad old way it was the very museum piece that decorated the halls of boredom

every wait and every exit there it was,
two wings on a body still spread open
as if it was frozen mid flight

i often believed that we wondered all the same
on the questions that it asked
it probably flew up there
it was probably old
maybe it isn't real
it's more of something if it is

i think of it now sometimes
wondering if it was still there
or if it was ever thrown out
and how it would have felt to throw it out;
i wonder what kind of disgust that would have felt

and i wondered about it as if it were itself a relic or a mummy
or a tombstone, or a gorgon victim

and i wonder if it ever thought about it being talked about after death
like some sort of archeological oddity more splendidly eye catching beyond life
perhaps seen by more eyes
than it ever did alive
i wonder if it ever knew more life on a field or tree
than the souls of staring creatures
in a hollow concrete corridor

and i wonder if death was truly interesting
or rot enduring the test of time

i wonder if i ever was displayed on a slab
would they think of me a dead thing or one who was once alive
would they ever wonder how i flew
or why i chose my grave
or if somehow
underneath the dust and soot
they would know that i was once
a butterfly