The opening poems of the novel establish the structure and form, conflicts, stakes, and themes of the main character Moth’s story. The narrative opens just two years after a tragic car accident claimed Moth’s parents and brother’s lives. This traumatic event has disrupted the course of 17-year-old Moth’s life, identity, and coming-of-age. 

Although some time has elapsed since Moth lost her family and moved in with her aunt in Virginia, Moth’s narrative remains consumed by allusions to the car accident, which establishes the theme of The Enduring Nature of Grief. Moth’s sustained sorrow over her family’s death is magnified by her guilt and loneliness. In the poem “The Girl Who Lived,” Moth highlights her survivor’s guilt. She cannot reconcile with why her mother, father, and brother would die, but “she did not die” (37). She blames herself for the accident and becomes convinced that her survival is a punishment for being greedy with life, or as Moth phrases it, “for sucking the juice from the sun” (37). 

In the narrative present, Moth tries to atone for her perceived culpability by forbidding herself to dance. She believes that denying herself this former pleasure might make up for surviving. If her parents and brothers cannot live, she does not think she has the right to enjoy life, either. Her grief is ongoing because Moth refuses to let herself move through the steps of the grieving process. Instead, she actively replays the accident in her mind—fearing that if she stops mourning, she might forget her late family.

The inception of Moth’s relationship with the new boy, Sani, incites the novel’s explorations of Friendship and Love as Pathways to Healing. In the poems before Moth and Sani meet, Moth is preoccupied with the accident—or, the day “our car broke in half / like a candy bar on the freeway” (4)—and her social alienation at home and school: “I am not something to anyone” (5). In the poems that follow Moth and Sani’s meeting, Moth’s narrative focus and her tone begin to shift. Most notably, the night after she and Sani walk home from the bus stop together, Moth lies in bed and notes, “for the first time in a long time / I am not breaking in half, in the back of a car. / For the first time in a long time I feel my ancestors / & I think of my gray-bearded grandfather / & the magic he taught me” (27). 

These lines have a more uplifted, hopeful tone that mirrors Moth’s shifting state of mind. The placement of this emotionally transformative moment implies that meeting Sani is beginning to shift Moth’s point of view. She is still mourning her family, but for the first time in years, she senses the possibility of change and newness. Later, she remarks that although she has always hated summer—particularly since the tragic summer road trip accident two years ago—she doesn’t dread the season as much this year, given the possibility of spending more time with her new friend.

Sani’s kindness, empathy, and authenticity begin to awaken Moth’s spirit and help her to engage with life again. The way she describes Sani in the poem “Reasons I Hate Summer” illustrates Sani’s immediate impact on Moth: He “carries mountain smoke on his breath,” “has cedar around his neck & tattoo-laced skin,” “sings like fog,” “plays like birds’ wings kissing,” “lives ten houses down,” and “he sees me (Moth)” (53). Throughout the poem, Moth likens Sani’s physical features to the natural world, metaphors and similes which underscore his genuine nature. The final line conveys Sani’s unprecedented interest in Moth: She is moved by Sani’s seeming ability to understand her because, for so long, she has felt like “a passing breeze / felt but never seen” (5). Sani’s ability to feel and see Moth marks a shift in her narrative arc, offering her a pathway to renewal, healing, and spiritual transformation.

This section also introduces the theme of Cultural Inheritance as a Form of Self-Recognition. When Moth was young, her grandfather taught her that “The ancestors are with you, Moth, / you are never alone/ Taught you. You have magic in your bones” (31). However, because Moth has tried to forget her grandfather’s teachings and her ancestors’ stories since her family died, she struggles to make sense of who she is and what she is experiencing. She cannot turn to her grandfather’s Hoodoo teachings or her forebears’ wisdom as a way to navigate her grief or her coming-of-age. Moth’s poetic renderings of her story enact this struggle between her internal and external experience, formally capturing the gaps in Moth’s emotional and spiritual understanding. Her loss, grief, and coming-of-age lack easy linguistic explanation, but in poetic forms, Moth seeks a new way to identify her experience.