154: Crane Fly

Mixed with red wine and cigarettes, I looked up at the night sky. Big, blue and impassive, it stared back. Hearing a soft flittering behind me, I turned to see a crane fly darting about beneath my lampshade. I willed the stars to shine brighter, for the moon to emerge — but the sky remained still. Still the crane fly knocked around the lampshade, blinded by the electric glow, intoxicated. Round and round, devoted to the white heat of the artificial light. I switched my lamp off, hoping for the night to shift and to draw out the insect, but if anything the clouds grew thicker. I could only make out the north star in the distance. The crane fly had grown still, with no promise of the moon and no escape to be had.

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Written by: Millie Bysh

Instagram: @leoninepixie

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Publisher's note: Please note that all poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been seen by our editors, and that the editors have suggested revisions where they see fit, but we believe that it is ultimately the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions and take no responsibility for which suggestions they accept or reject.