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Posts Tagged ‘Moon’

I hear a nighttime sound within my room

Who’s that, hooting right at noon?

a Great Horned Owl, a Screech, a loon

Whose call disturbs this sun instead of moon?

 

What owl hoots by my window right at noon?

my senses must be dampened by my sleep

Whose call could disturb this sunny room?

a false owl, raven, such a tiny peep

 

Surely my ears deceive me, drunk from sleep

it cannot be an owl, no not at noon

a false owl,  perhaps, a finch’s tiny peep

I’m not awake, I’m weary still from sleep

 

It cannot be an owl, no not at noon

perhaps a Great Horned Owl, a Screech, a loon?

I awaken, weary from my sleep

lulled by a nighttime sound within my room

 

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The Cheaters

They want the kind of pity the Potato

Eaters generate. They want you to believe

Their desperation, in the brown colored cloaks

Their lives were hooded with. They want you

To feel sorry that they had only one

Potato to themselves and who doesn’t want

More and more and more potato?

Pretty soon, they don’t even know

Their own ground any more. They wake up

Thinking how much they prefer this russet over that

Yukon Gold. Look I want to shout. We’re all just as lumpy.

Look at the moon instead. See how it reflects? The marriage

finally broke apart when Mary started seeing Keith. Mark still

seethes at Keith’s name even though Mark is remarried and even

though he and Mary have been divorced for years and even though he’d done more cheating on her than she on he. When you’re cheating

on someone, you forget that someone. Their face is eclipsed

by your desire for someone else, for your desire

not to think too hard about what you’re doing.

But when you’re the one being cheated on,

when you lie down to try to sleep at night, alone, wondering

where your someone went, all you can see is the image of that person’s

face where yours is supposed to be. Mark imagined Keith in his car,

on the edge of his kids’ bed, on his front porch, on his bicycle. Keith’s face took the place of Mark’s in the mirror and now Mark can’t even

shave without his hand shaking. The face of the other woman, or in Mark’s case, the other man, is like a moon. Even when new, you can still make out the outline of its curve.

I want to feel sorry for the cheaters. I want to tell them I understand.

And I do, I do. I cannot say I’ve never tasted other potatoes.

I cannot say that I don’t like my potatoes whipped as white as any

moon but mirror looking in is a vast abyss, not a place where some

one can hold your hand and say if you weren’t getting

what you needed, you had to go elsewhere. If you needed to go

elsewhere you should have gone there first

and when you’re sorry you find out there just serving the same old potatoes on

the moon and you want to come back to the lumps you know, the mirror you think is

shaking is really just turning away.

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