Pantry Moths

the larvae were born in a box of white marzipans,

gnawing through womb-like webs:

waxworm to weevil moth.

they found me here.

a plaid shirt in the closet

with a hole in the collar.

watch your darkest corners.

there is an empty matchbook on my desk

with an initial and a thank you note.

beneath the flap, an abandoned pupal case,

crusting inside.

it was a vacant space.

last night I killed one or two.

there was no funeral.

I pulled the shroud over my eyes

to forget their little truths.

the larvae are in the trash can.

I can hear their silence.

it is growing palpable.

tomorrow: in glass jars, 

one bug at a time:

I will arrest them.

I will let them go.