Red Moon
Jersey shore kids play a game called first one to see the moon,
I never played it until tonight at Stella Maris.
“There,” a woman cries, and points to the eleven o’clock position.
All around me, the cry is repeated,
followed by the silence of a lightning bolt without thunder.
The full moon rises out of the great mixing bowl.
A red sliver of light etches the horizon,
emerges to giant fullness,
then pauses, reluctant to leave the sea and go alone into the sky.
Tide’s tug holds it in a watery embrace.
A ribbon of light shimmers on the surface,
the moon ascends, shrinks,
fades from bright to branding iron white,
climbs higher
and casts a river of beams.
That’s the only time I ever saw the moon rise from the ocean.
In the woods where I live, you see the moon after it clears the trees.
I long to see the back of the moon, wonder if will be blue.
Sometimes it takes one woman’s eyes to open another’s.
(First Published in Finding Stella Maris: Chapbook)
Before Night Comes
It happened on a hillside in Pequea,
we retired and burned the moving boxes,
the ones done traveling between jobs and houses.
We sit here and wait for inevitable night,
refit the house, try to tame the land,
unpack books and mementos
of holidays, jobs and the children’s lives.
We set out few treasures to keep us company,
attack land tangled with thorns and vines,
establish a garden, plant perennials and fruit trees.
Each night before dark comes,
I stop whatever I’m doing
rush outside and look east
where deep shadows march towards night,
check for yellow light caught in tree branches,
on sides of houses and barns.
Then I turn west for the light show of dusk,
a brilliant crone’s scarf that collects
the rich colors and words of the passing day
and put on my scarf before night comes.
(First Published in Panoply)
https://www.sanctuary-magazine.com/poetry-corner.html
Date Published: April 1, 2020