"january moon" by Marie Lecrivain
is the executive editor of poeticdiversity (www.poeticdiversity.com).
She lives in L.A.
© 2007 Marie Lecrivain
pyramid of dirty cups rises silently from the sink. A discussion next door
becomes strident. My computer screen is ablaze. The luminous streetlights
fail to cheer me.
PM on a Wednesday in January, three weeks to Valentine's Day, and I feel
spiky like a hedgehog, bristly and attenuated. The last of the holiday
cheer had evaporated this Sunday past when I paid a neighbor boy $5 to
haul the Tannenbaum corpse to the curb. My "thank you" sounded
foreign to our ears; they were the first gracious words I'd volunteered to
someone else this year.
are three states above and one time zone ahead of me. Right now, you are
spooned against a woman who has adopted you, your frailties and your
cruelty, where I could barely manage yours in foster care. It's 40 degrees
colder where you are, and the chill in my bones reminds me you are the
you are the moon shines down upon the snowy mountains, through the icicles
that line your roof, and into your window. It highlights the paleness of
your skin and the frosty line of your mouth as my name wafts through your
dreams. Where I am, Luna has already ridden the dusk past the horizon. The
low hanging clouds wait for me to fall asleep. They will keen for you when
the moon is
in seven layers
cloud - the same
of sorrows you used
to shackle my heart to yours
All work is copyrighted property of Marie Lecrivain.
© 2007 SubtleTea Productions All Rights Reserved