Driftwood Press, 2023, 100 pp.
Lanternfly August Ghazal
The sun was made of metal or paper last night.
I missed my old trees when the wind blew last night.
Five lanternflies are enough to make a mobile.
Danced over the softest crib last night.
Discovering my heart was made of folded paper,
I jumped into the forest fire last night.
We used to own the language of roots
but then moths seized the tongue last night.
Becoming useful is only a process of release.
What kind of pilgrims were we last night?
A sea turned inside out is not a paragraph.
It is a suitable clause. Take me back to last night.
Fleas arrived in bundles. Told us to give in
and arrive as more certain vermin. We died last night.
Taking a page from a bible, the goblins made us
by the glow of moon jellies last night.
Do you know what it means to be glorious in a way
even God doesn’t see? We laughed at him all night.
Gathering like puppeteers, we moved our own bodies.
Called ourselves lanternfly, lanternfly but only last night.
Recognizing and Reporting Spotted Lanternfly
This summer, trees fell like rotted teeth on the creek’s bank.
Wood, soft and rotted. Mashed. I touched the jagged stubs.
On the trail, lanternflies mourned with me. Flickered
from bench to algae pool. Naked creek filling with sunlight.
The lanternflies continued to eat. Sapping the trees. A tiny sugar-drop
of soul at a time. In their red hearts, the minds of trees spinning
with swamp and insect song. The lives of the trees turned fragment.
Lanternflies telling tree stories. Wishing they were trees—
yearning to root themselves in the wet earth. Live with fingers
in the moon. A lanternfly jumping on my thigh and telling me
“Will you give me back to where I came from?” I wave him away
and want to tell him that this water is where we both came from.
The smoothed rocks of our hearts. Tree limbs caught
in the creek’s twists. Fish gathering beneath the shade of dead leaves.
Upstream, a man fishing for trout. Shirtless. Tackle box at his feet.
I picture a fishing line that tethers the trees. Helps them
remain standing and not buckle beneath their withering.
What can be done about our most corrosive hungers?
I ask the lanternflies if they have ever tried eating each other.
They do not answer. Maybe I am alone in trying
to consume the self. The water moves on
but also remains unchanged. Always pulse. The algae swims
like boyfriend hair. I caress each tree’s broken root before
leaving. Lanternflies scatter, part like an ocean as I go.
Medicinal Uses of the Lanternfly
1.
When re-learning red
I asked you to open your wings.
Took polaroid snap-shots
of each beat.
2.
To ease swelling.
3.
Poisonous when swallowed.
A bowl of lanternflies
and a golden fork.
4.
Cure for nostalgia.
A reminder the world I held
in my softest hands
is no longer vivid.
5.
When struggling to sleep,
several lanternflies in a jar
can help keep you company
while you wither the moon.
6.
An aphrodisiac can be anything
you find beautiful. Do you find
the lanternfly beautiful?
Do you believe in healing?
7.
Swallow a lanternfly whole
to relieve the sense of dread
that creeps in each dusk.
8.
Also great as a muscle relaxer.
Let the lanternflies transverse
your skin. Ask them to teach you
how to glow.
9.
To accept the color of the sky.
10.
For fruitful legs.
11.
Last and most importantly,
the lanternfly’s soul can be purposed
for growing dark wood trees
to fill any room.
✶✶✶✶
Robin Gow is an autistic trans poet and witch from rural Pennsylvania.
✶
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