Sink

When I return home from a long weekend away
I find in the bathroom sink
my old nail clippings
forgotten in a rush to leave on a
backpack trip
the kind where you lose your toenail
if it’s not properly trimmed
I know from experience
hammering against my boot along the baked trails south of Tucson
Also
the smallest
gray moth delicate horizontal wings
lacelike
deceased among the keratin crescents
He was fluttering against the bathroom wall the day I left and I resisted kicking him out
(holes in wool sweaters be damned)
due to his wee personality and my fondness for his earthtones
I’m not sure which makes me
more melancholy
his passing during my absence
or that the quiet of this once-full house makes such neglect permissible
But I know
the basin
where I clean my teeth twice a day
deserves better
And so did the moth