Bobby Wallen is 67 and retired. Originally from Kentucky, he now resides in northern Texas.

He can be found on Threads and Instagram.

Do you see
the fragile
moth,

she challenges
the candle
with her flutter,

she dances

in harmony
with the flame,
risking her life
to know the light,

she may burn,
but does she care?

Joining with the flame
lighting up the world
for a brief instant
in the final move
of her dance.

Welcome to the inaugural Subtext. The idea for Subtext was born on Threads as I’ve provided more in-depth feedback and commentary on pieces, and it started to get a little unwieldy in the 500 character limit and juggling multiple threads to formulate a response. That, and being able to easily reference back to the poem I was responding to. After I decided to do this, I came across this wonderful poem by Bobby Wallen and knew this was the perfect poem to kick off this venture. So, without further ado, let’s get into it!

This is such a beautiful poem, and the way Bobby uses language and line breaks just punches up the imagery and impact the lines have. I’m still in love with this stanza:

she challenges
the candle
with her flutter.

It’s a beautiful stanza. And I love how this ties back to the opening stanza, and the “fragile / moth.” There is that idea that moths can seem kind of fragile. Their almost cloth, almost paper-like wings. They are kind of a dust ball with wings and an attraction to light. At times, an almost self-destructive attraction. But I love that image and that idea. That a moth can challenge the flame of a candle. A destructive and passionate and hungry fire with its enticing light. It calls to the moth. It draws her in. And she circles and dances. I love the image of her challenging the flame.

I have the image of the moth coming up to the flame and veering at the last second, the flutter of her wings causing the flame to sputter a bit. As if she can taunt the flame as it taunts her. And her challenge is multifaceted. It’s not just being defiant to the flame. She also challenges its pull on her. The attraction. We all know the line, the idea: “the moth drawn to the flame.” It’s as if they don’t have a choice. No free will and no capacity to resist the sometimes-deadly call. And the innate beauty of it. She challenges the flame with her dance. Resisting its pull, defiant against its draw, and flirting with danger and death. How close can she get?

But there is a beauty to this dance, deadly though it may be. And that kind of adds to the intrigue, doesn’t it? We’re often drawn to danger. Think of the danger acts on shows like America’s Got Talent and the draw that they have. It’s that razor’s edge and flirtation. Which brings us further into the poem with the next stanzas.

she dances

in harmony
with the flame,
risking her life
to know the light,

“In harmony / with the flame.” That is such a vivid image. And, at least for me, we begin to move beyond just the image of a moth and candle. It becomes a very ethereal dance. I’m reminded of the dancers with long, flowing dresses and ribbons. How they seem to float in the air instead of gliding across the ground. I know I’ve been mesmerized, watching moths dance around a fire or a porch light. There is something just beautiful about it. But even as she dances in harmony, the breathing of the flame as it dances as well, it is a dance of danger.

“Risking her life / to know the light.” What is that draw? Why are we so attracted to the very things that can destroy us? Because we know we risk our lives. Just as the moth knows she risks her life in this dance. It makes me think about life, and our passions, and the things we are drawn to, attracted to. We crave life. Whether that life is the love of another: a partner, a spouse, a child, a pet. Or maybe a place, a memory that defines us and we long for. So, we chase the flame, we dance with death and danger to get that feeling back. Because that was the only time we felt alive.

But there’s also the other side. Being so consumed by a passion that we let the very thing we love destroy us. “She may burn / but does she care?” This brings to mind addiction. Not necessarily drugs, or sex, or anything carnal like that. But to the feeling. To emotion. To feel like we did when we first gazed upon the ocean and couldn’t stop smiling, the waves swirling the sand around our feet and between our toes, when our lips first touched and our skin was electric and we could no longer resist the attraction. What would you do? What would you give to have that first feeling back again?

“She may burn / but does she care?”

That line is just so powerful. So few words, so telling. But you can feel the impact of it hit your throat and fall into your gut. To chase the passion and the feeling. To crave it so much that life itself doesn’t matter without it. That the risk of injury or death or total annihilation is worth that feeling. I love the juxtaposition of these ideas in the poem. Challenge and harmony. Fragility and the strength that comes with the willingness to burn. There’s also the idea of light and dark, life and death, passion and apathy.

This is such an incredibly deep and powerful poem. And the final stanza just absolutely punches it home, so hard.

Joining with the flame
lighting up the world
for a brief instant
in the final move
of her dance

Like, let that stanza sink in for a moment. “Joining with the flame.” To me, it becomes abundantly clear that the dancing moth does care. She does care that she burns. But not in the sense that she doesn’t want to. Care is a noun and a verb. To read “does she care” as a noun gives a very different feel than reading it as a verb. For instance, as a noun. Does she care, does she provide for the provision of health or protection? Does she give serious attention to avoid damage or risk? And now as a verb. Does she feel concern? Interest? Does she attach importance? Does she look after or provide for the needs of?

Think about how that line changes depending on how we interpret just one little word: care. “She may burn.” And she most certainly does not seem to give attention to avoiding risk or damage. But I would say that she most certainly does attach importance. I also read “she may burn” just a little differently now. May: is it possible? Is it permissible? See the duality of that meaning as well now? That line takes a very different twist to me now, especially as we move into the final stanza of this poem.

How do you read this line?

She has permission to burn because she does not give attention to avoiding risk. Her desire for the flame, for passion, to feel alive even at the risk of utter destruction and annihilation, is all that matters. “Joining with the flame / lighting up the world / for a brief instant.” This last stanza is just so powerful and so beautiful in its darkness. Because there are those people in this world like that. I’m sure you can think of one without having to try very hard. The type of people that will burn themselves out, a brilliant flame for a moment, to provide that moment of light and passion and life to the world. Giving their life for it. For art, for passion. For love. Because she does care. She does provide for our needs, not hers.

I can hear the moment the sizzle of flame catches the moth. Smell the acrid stench of wings. See the brilliant flash as she is consumed in a heartbeat. The smoke that remains. But the light brought to the world for that moment. “In the final move / of her dance.” Even if we feel like what we do in our lives doesn’t matter, we all have that one moment, that final moment, where we can shine for the world and bring love and passion and hope and a raw beauty. As sad as the ending of this poem can be, it is incredibly transformative. This is no longer the fragile moth at the beginning of the poem. She has taken control. In harmony. Joining with.

That is not the sad death. Not a sad parting. She left this world on her own terms, providing the final flash of light, the final moment of beauty and hope and grace and life of her dance. She chose how to leave this life in the way that provided the best impact, that let her show the most light, and the final confirmation. Yes. She does care that she burns. She burns so that we don’t have to. She burns to show us her life was hers. And there is beauty in every stage, fragile or not.

Bobby, this is fantastic poem and I love it so much. It’s incredible in its words, its images, and its message. I’m so glad you allowed me to kickoff Subtext with your poem.