The same day I learn napkin means
little tablecloth, a silver-spotted skipper
lands on a paper napkin crumpled
into a fist on my picnic table. Brown
and stout, they are often mistaken
for moths. What does it matter when
both contribute to our ecosystem?
On the hind side of each wing:
a silver-white splotch—a tiny mirror
image of its napkin perch. A napkin-kin.
Look closely: a mirror in a mirror
in a mirror in a mirror, kin kin kin kin.
This poem also appears in the September 2026 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 91, No. 9, page 49). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.
