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?