Bayou

In the marble sculpture garden of the Met,
a grey moth lady sits in the soup of her own echoes.

She has caterpillar silk hair,
alligator skin fingers,
crabbed apple fists.
She has grace and crackling paper.

She splashes ink on the page
and it comes out in the shapes of snapping turtles
and muddy rivers and octopi.
It is not like the sculptures in the garden.
No, not at all.

Her pages are beignets, canoes,
the Louisiana bayou.

Grey moth lady,
I love your grace and crackling paper.
Why are you sitting in this cold stone hallway
in the soup of your own echoes?