Drinking In the Moon

 

O moon of stained sheets

and desiccated teabags!

Waxy-eyed prophet of heartbreaks

and tides, pearled bonnets of eggs,

mushrooms and cotton-eyed girls.

Illuminate the elusive prismatic

innards of the shell,

the neat bottoms of teacups

and the portly underbelly

escaping from jeans.

Heroic moon, reveal

the rice of kings and trick them

into feeding the hungry.

Sow chalk dust and soap

and leave us good purpose.

O moon of my delight,

he said as she swooned

before that blanched, imperial crust.

To the moon of the sea,

float gently our bones and teeth.

Turn champagne to milk

and we’ll drink to a luminous

etiolation of things.

 

This is one of my poems.  It’s been rejected for publication a couple of times.  But I thought I’d share it.  I’d sort of forgotten about it, but I like it even I haven’t found the right editor yet.  I’ve been dying to get the word etiolation into a poem since I first heard it something like 20 years ago.

I don’t ever publish my poems on this site, but what the hell.  I’m ready to risk losing readers to poetry.  It’s something I love and am willing to subject others to.  I made up this rule about not posting my poetry and now I’m breaking it.  I just wish I’d published this on a night with a big full moon jostling for position among the buildings, airplanes and palm trees.  Just pretend, okay?