Flutter Away

Thomas W Case



The moth kept pouring itself
against the porch light.
Over and over.
A tiny, dusty body
chasing something bright
that had no intention
of saving it.

I understood that.
Spent enough years
doing the same thing.
Following neon signs.
Half-empty glasses.
Things that looked warm
from a distance.

I was twenty-one,
standing beside my little brother
in a hospital room on Mercy Street.
Too young to understand
how fast a person
can become
a fractured memory.

It was supposed to be routine.
A gallbladder surgery.
Something ordinary.
Something people walked away from.

Then pneumonia came.
Machines humming.
White sheets.
That cold hospital smell
that tells you
something is changing.
Apathetic nurses.
Apologetic doctors.

My grandmother,
who’d always been there,
was suddenly fighting
for every breath.
Not dramatic.
Not like the movies.
Just small movements.
A chest rising.
A chest falling.
Milky eyes,
focused far, far away.

The last fluttering breaths
of someone leaving.

My brother and I stood there,
twenty and twenty-one,
watching childhood disappear
without asking permission.

Nobody tells you
when you become an adult.
There is no ceremony.
No music.
No announcement.
And there sure the hell isn’t a parade.

Sometimes it happens
under fluorescent lights,
beside a hospital bed,
while someone you love
takes one last breath.

Years later,
I still think about that moth.
Still beating its wings
against the glass.

Still believing
there has to be something
on the other side.

Maybe that’s what we all do.
Flutter against the things
we cannot change,
until finally we learn
the difference
between holding on
and letting go.

Comments +

Comments9

  • sorenbarrett

    Thomas this is a lovely write real life and death what it means and how that is called growing up. The metaphor with the moth is wonderful and fits so well. Something so common that everyone has seen now another aspect so common that everyone must go through. It is gritty and smells of life and death with its perfume and stench it is a grandmother, a brother and ourselves. How much more down to earth can it get. Hats off my friend

  • Teddy.15


    I was twenty-one,
    standing beside my little brother
    in a hospital room on Mercy Street.
    Too young to understand
    how fast a person
    can become
    a fractured memory.

    So very beautifully composed even just the memory and being so young at that time. 🌹

  • orchidee

    Good write T.

  • Friendship

    lovely written, my friend🌹

  • arqios

    We are likened unto a moth against light and glass until we have learnt the difference between holding on and letting go. 🙏🕊️

    • Thomas W Case

      Yes, we are. Thank you.

      • arqios

        Very welcome🕊️🙏🏻

      • Doggerel Dave

        My attention stays with the moth, " Still believing there has to be something on the other side".

        Thanks for that, Thomas.

      • Kevin Hulme

        A fine write as per usual. And very Philosophical. I suppose we are all Moths beating against the light for our own Interests.

      • Tristan Robert Lange

        Thomas, this hit me incredibly hard. Grief does not merely take someone we love...sometimes it takes the person we were before losing them. Absolutely devastating work, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛

      • NafisaSB

        Wonderful commentary on how life ends in different ways - and how we have to let go to survive the painful memories

        • Thomas W Case

          So true. Thank you.

          • NafisaSB

            You are most welcome 👍



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