Me (Moth)

by Amber McBride

Or am I walking away from myself?

  Is this the leaving,

  or the staying,

  or the long, long goodbye?

  How does one remember how to die?

  GRANDFATHER AT THE CROSSROADS

  Gray & bearded & hopeful,

  Grandfather appears

  through the haze, saying,

  I told you, the dead don’t leave.

  It is brighter than bright,

  warmer than warm

  & I still want to stay

  with the boy who is often

  as silent as a seahorse.

  A boy who sees the dead.

  A boy with a violin voice.

  A boy who sees me.

  Me.

  Me.

  Me.

  (Moth.)

  MISSING …

  Some mystical red string

  stitched up the length of my spine

  holds me in two places.

  My spirit has been looped

  with Sani’s.

  & I don’t know

  how to unstitch.

  I don’t know how

  to unravel this magic.

  With each step away,

  holes pock my soul.

  My sphinx moth wings

  flutter dusty golden glitter.

  I say, Sani, when you sing

  I’ll dance,

  I’ll hear you,

  somehow.

  THERE IS A WHOLE LOT OF HEAVEN

  I need to go

  to the Fifth World—

  the one that only ghosts know—

  with my grandfather,

  mother, father, brother

  & all the ancestors.

  Where death is just one dimension,

  one reality,

  in a universe of thousands.

  So I reach,

  weightless

  & touch

  my grandfather’s outstretched hand

  & Sani lets go of mine

  & I flutter my new dusty wings

  wide, spotted & brilliant.

  & Grandfather tugs me across.

  Grandfather says,

  Leaving is the hard part.

  I collapse into my gray grandfather.

  Will I always have my dusty wings?

  Grandfather gathers me closer.

  You grew them yourself, Moth.

  They are yours forever. You can always hover.

  Behind me in fog & sand

  Sani is on his knees,

  forgetting how to breathe, singing,

  If I remember to sing, to live …

  Honey, please haunt all my dreams.

  SANI: GOODBYE NOTE

  I place it in the ground

  in Central Park

  so the trees & seeds know

  that, to me, you were alive,

  ’cause spirits do not die—

  they shift.

  To me you are alive,

  somewhere dancing

  to our “Summer Song.”

  & I hope the roots,

  the magic, your ancestors

  get this message to you

  across space

  across time

  in a place

  where we find each other (again)

  in a Sixth World that we create.

  Where we live in a cocoon,

  backs laced together along the spine,

  each of our bodies a wing

  so when we are born again,

  we are one, never to part

  & we can fly & sing

  & dance.

  We are one, just you (Moth) & me (Sani)—

  Goodbye,

  honey,

  goodbye …

  TEN YEARS LATER

  Sold Out: Madison Square Garden

  Sani: This song is for Moth.

  The reason I remember my voice

  & try to live, live, live.

  “SUMMER SONG”

  A gift, an iron to smooth the creases

  that wrinkle up your spirit.

  A bundle of beer, a bouquet of clichés

  because it’s almost summer & it feels right.

  In the South we never come empty-handed

  & I am nothing if not polite.

  I leave courage & cleverness behind

  because I am nothing if not polite.

  Honey, all the clocks are against us,

  we’ve got one summer, I’ll do your bidding.

  Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything you want.

  I want to suffocate your sadness,

  I want you to run away with me,

  please run away with me.

  I have found that the whites of your bones

  are so lovely, they should be carved into piano keys.

  Stars, fireflies in the sky, flicker on & the moon

  is a hooked fingernail beckoning us away.

  Honey, all the clocks are against us,

  we’ve got one summer, I’ll do your bidding.

  Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything you want.

  Voltage on our tongues, glows ballerina-witchcraft.

  Your hands are fluent in foreplay—

  all curves & a little bite.

  Honey, you can keep me forever, like a phantom limb.

  Darling, let me haunt you.

  There is a whole lot of heaven waiting for you.

  Honey, please haunt all my dreams.

  Honey, all the clocks are against us,

  we’ve only got one summer,

  I’ll do your bidding

  just tell me what you want.

  I’ll do anything you want …

  Moth: I grew these dusty wings myself.

  I can hover here

  whenever I want—

  Me (Moth).

  Me (Moth).

  NOTES

  Thank you to my aunt Debbie McBride, a proud member of the Navajo Nation who was kind enough to help me develop the character of Sani. She also helped me to articulate correctly the Navajo myths and creation stories in this novel in verse.

  When enslaved Africans arrived in the United States, they were no longer permitted to practice their own spiritual traditions—Christianity was forced on them. Hoodoo is a magic system that grew out of that misfortune, created in the South during slavery. At its core, Hoodoo is a melding of West African spiritual traditions and Christianity. Often referred to as Rootwork, Hoodoo’s ultimate goal is to shift the odds in your favor through ancestral worship, offerings, and work with herbs and plants.

  Though it is practiced differently from region to region, at the root, Hoodoo highlights the strength and power of the ancestors. Hoodoo is neither good nor bad; it is balance. With the Great Migration, Hoodoo took hold throughout the United States.

  MOTH & SANI’S ROAD TRIP PLAYLIST

  “My Body Is a Cage,” Arcade Fire

  “Monster 2.0,” Jacob Banks

  “Shrike,” Hozier

  “Sweet Beautiful You,” Stateline

  “Strange Fruit,” Nina Simone

  “Lungs,” Jake Howden

  “Samson,” Regina Spektor

  “Where I Want to Go,” Roo Panes

  “In a Sentimental Mood,” Duke Ellington and John Coltrane

  “All My Life,” Texada

  “Lover, Don’t Leave,” Citizen Shade

  “I’ll Be Seeing You,” Billie Holiday

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I started writing this book two months after my own gray-bearded grandfather, William McBride, passed away. My grandfather never missed a birthday, a graduation, or any accomplishment, big or small. Knowing that he was not going to witness my first book in bookstores left a hole in me.

  When on February 22, 2019, I climbed into my freezing car to attend Grandfather’s funeral, my passenger seat was blazing warm and stayed warm for the entire three-hour car ride. So many people attended his funeral. Every overflow area was used, and people stood outside. On the way to the burial site, the police had to shut down
parts of downtown Alexandria—we zoomed pass stoplight after stoplight, and I swore I saw younger versions of Grandfather walking briskly on the sidewalk. Later, coins kept showing up on Grandfather’s headstone and I started to remember the stories of Hoodoo I’d heard when I was younger. Writing this book was a healing and a homecoming. So, first and foremost, I must thank my gray-bearded grandfather and the ancestors for always leading me back to center—I’ve only ever been brave because I want you to be proud of me.

  To my parents, Mario and Debra, thank you for your unwavering and unyielding support. Mom, thank you for letting me dream and name trees. Thank you for being my lifelong first advocate, first reader, and voice when mine shakes. Dad, thank you for the thousands of bedtime stories about growing up in Alexandria, Virginia. You taught me storytelling before I could read. Thank you for your steady calm and for killing all the spiders and saving all the mermaids.

  Debbie McBride, thank you again for helping me develop the character of Sani. I’ll never forget the time I spent when I was younger on the Navajo reservation. It helped craft me into the person I am today. Thank you most of all for being so generous with your history and stunning traditions.

  To my wonderful agent, Rena Rossner, you are a lighthouse in my creative world. Because of you, I am not afraid to try new things in writing. I can travel far from shore knowing you will guide me back. Thank you for consistently supporting my own authentic voice. I hope we bring many more books into the universe.

  To my editor, Liz Szabla, thank you for seeing Moth so clearly from the start. Thank you for your tireless work and attention to detail; it has been a joy working with you. Many thanks to the entire team at Feiwel & Friends, and a special thanks to Jean Feiwel for allowing me to be a part of this family.

  A thousand times thank-you to all of the poets and novelists whose books shaped me as a writer: Jericho Brown, Nikki Giovanni, Toni Morrison, Terrance Hayes, and Tracy K. Smith, just to name a few. I saw my reflection in your books and therefore found my voice.

  A particularly special thank-you to Dr. Joanne Gabbin and the Furious Flower Poetry Center for giving me a place to grow and work at a pivotal time in my life. I can never repay the kindness and opportunities you granted me. My gratitude stretches past the boundaries of the known universe.

  To my favorite poetry professors, Laurie Kutchins (James Madison University) and John Skoyles (Emerson College). Laurie, thank you for encouraging me to pursue my MFA, and John, thank you for being the reason I thrived in my MFA program.

  To the most exquisite human souls, Monica DiMuzio and Cristian Dennis. Monica (middle-school bestie, college roomie, travel buddy, and fellow avid reader), I would not be where I am without you. You make me a better person, thank you. Cristian, thank you for late-night adventures, dance parties, and movie nights. I have always wanted a brother, and the universe sent me you. You are brave and extraordinary and I heart you forever.

  The most respectful “hello” to my very large extended family around the world! Thank you for the messages, the phone calls, and the lipstick-stained kisses at church revivals every August. In short, thank you for following my lifeline so closely and for your endless support.

  To the younger generation, a much less formal “haiii” to my sister, cousins, and friends: Meghan, Ron, Nimah, Hyison, Summer, Heather, Kiya, Asja, Brandon, Brian, Kennedy, Taja, Norhan, Allison, Abby, Shuruq, Jamar, Ally, and Miya. I know life has led us all to different places, but I’d be remiss if I did not write your names.

  Much love to my fur baby and first listener, Shiloh, who has listened to me read her this book a hundred times. Thank you for teaching me stillness for the past eleven years.

  To anyone I missed, I see you, I love you.

  And lastly to you (readers), thank you for picking up this book. I offer you a gift, an iron to smooth the creases that wrinkle up your spirit. Please know that I am always wishing you wellness and joy.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Amber McBride is an English professor at the University of Virginia and holds an MFA in poetry from Emerson College. Her poetry has been published in several literary magazines, including Ploughshares and The Rumpus. She lives in Charlottesville, Virginia, with her dog, Shiloh. You can find her on twitter: @ambsmcbride and Instagram: @ambsmcbride and amber-mcbride.com. Me (Moth) is her young adult debut. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Moth Egg:

  Call Me (Moth)

  Almost Summer (Again)

  Now I Live a Secondhand Life

  When I Lived in New York City

  (Aunt Jack’s) List of Rules

  (Moth’s) List of Rules

  Virginia: Almost-Last Bus Ride of Junior Year

  Boy with Long Black Hair Shows up in Homeroom

  “Shared” Locker Rules

  Final Pep Rally: Dance Team

  Transverse Orientation

  Bus Ride Home

  Same Stop (Sani Lights a Cigarette)

  Moths

  I Dream of My Grandfather (Rootworker)

  Morning Rituals (Last Day of School)

  Final Drama Class: Stories

  The Girl Who Lived

  Summer Song

  Sani Singing in the Empty Room

  I Find Sani by the Vending Machines

  Note Sani Slips into My Hand

  Egg

  I Used to Dance

  If I Went to Therapy, I Think It Would Go Like This

  Reasons I Hate Summer

  Black Witch Moth

  Aunt Jack Is Leaving for the Summer

  Goodbye Note Stuck to the Fridge

  Dust #1

  Text I Think About Sending Sani

  Instagram Party Post

  Instagram Post Results

  Through the Window

  At Least the Ancestors Were Hungry

  Text Sani Sends When He’s Gone in the Morning

  I’ll Do Your Bidding

  Summer Storm

  Run Away with me, Please

  Wormwood & Ginger Root

  Caterpillar:

  Up & Leave

  Sani’s Jeep Wrangler

  Caterpillar

  Lyrics & Stories

  Sani Needs to Eat

  The Route

  Places We Decide to Stop

  Monticello Plantation, Charlottesville, Virginia

  Dust #2

  Thomas Jefferson Had a Blue Beard

  Things I Notice about sani While He Sings “Strange Fruit” by Billie Holiday

  Things My Grandfather Taught Me about the South

  Things Sani Knows about the South

  Natural Bridge, Virginia

  Interstate 40

  Motel #1

  Old South: Practice Apocalypse

  We Lie Like Twin Spirits

  Creation According to Sani

  We Sleep

  On Our Way to North Carolina

  Ghost Town in the Sky, Maggie Valley, North Carolina

  Holding My Breath

  Sunrise Inn Motel

  Billy Tripp’s Mindfield, Brownsville, Tennessee

  Home

  The Bluebird Cafe, Nashville, Tennessee

  Dust #3

  Motel Whatever

  Willow: Nashville Cemetery

  Bruises

  Motel Guitar Lessons

  Time Is Nothing but an Illusion

  Fort Smith National Historic Site, Arkansas

  Time Travel Motel

  Motel Morning Rituals (with Sani)


  Pinnacle Mountain State Park, Arkansas

  It Feels Like the Second World

  Storytelling

  Car Ride: Storytelling

  Stafford Air & Space Museum, Weatherford, Oklahoma

  The Lighthouse, Palo Duro Canyon State Park, Texas

  Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo, Texas

  Dream Love: Motel

  Luna Moth

  Navajo Nation, Four Corners, New Mexico

  Cocoon:

  Four Corners

  Cocoon

  We Fold Down the Seats & Sleep in the Back of the Jeep

  I Also Dream

  Car Ride to Window Rock

  Kissing Sani (Feels Like…)

  Window Rock

  Almost at Sani’s House & Moths Pepper the Windshield

  Sani’s Home

  How to Make PB&J According to Sani

  Sani’s Room

  “Samson,” a Song by Regina Spektor

  Sani’s Dad is a Medicine Man

  Sani’s Nightmares

  Sani’s Dad Refills His Mystery Pills

  Health System

  We Have Cocooned Here

  Coyote Story: First Scolder

  Blood Moon in New Mexico

  Fireside Chat

  Guitar & Voice & Dance

  Dancing

  When the Song Is Over

  Puzzle in the Sky

  Sani’s Note

  Disassemble

  Alone

  Note Left in Sani’s Car

  How Our World was Created

  But I Come Back

  Our Fourth World

  Sani: People Stay Away

  I Still Don’t Know What the (Mystery) Pills Are for …

  Sani’s Dad Invites Us to Dinner

  We Have a Moment of Silence

  Sketch Me

  Sani’s Dad is a Medicine Man Whose Father Knew a Hoodoo Man

  Grandfather Left a Letter for Me

  The Root of the Root

  Hummingbird Moth

  & Open

  & Open & Open

  & Open & Open & Open

  Truth

  Moth:

  This Morning …

  I Woke Up Dead

  Hoodoo Fable

  Sphinx Moth