Poem About The Moon About The Moon About The Moon

no more poems about the moon

rebuked the magazine requesting

instead poems about

anything dead;

they hated light

and just for that reason

we began to write,

my soul and I

(since they didn't want

poems about her either):

the pearl of Heaven drifting the

gauze twisted in the marble of the

Milky Way

lovely lozenge lingering

tasting like vanilla probably.

rainbow mounded sherbet, snow-cone top

that can never dissolve

gold plate, silver plate the only one

for Company set;

pale melon wavering where

mermaids dart;

passing through clouds as we wish

to slip through trouble

still the one we cannot reach with rockets

the one that pink or rose or orange

that the cow jumped over..

you're your own gift-wrap sighed the 

babies on Christmas Eve

can we crinkle you, please?

or golden without a dish, cream

that must have gelled in a wishing well

the one suspended how?

said a child neck deep in the silver waters

of her dream can you stay up there

when everyone on earth is staring at you

(eventually)

and not fall down?

sip deeply through an infinite golden straw

the honey of the tears congealed- just there-

my mother's voice. on the evening air

mary angela douglas 9 october 2014