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.
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
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