Tonight's Poet Corner: The Moons
The Moons
by Belinda Roddie
When the light caught on my overstrung
fingers, it was like I was balancing two
somber nickels on my cuticles, watching the
glowing craters pop and fester in the night sky.
My father brought me a bowl of something to
drink, and we watched the pair of rocky eyes
swivel in a murky blue dreamscape, trying to
dance but having no feet to coordinate
their steps with. I sipped from the wooden mouth
in my hands and tasted a hot star on my tongue,
and I knew that with this in my belly, the sun
would burn extra bright and make up for the frost
developed under my boots by the hostile
double evening of celestial confusion.
by Belinda Roddie
When the light caught on my overstrung
fingers, it was like I was balancing two
somber nickels on my cuticles, watching the
glowing craters pop and fester in the night sky.
My father brought me a bowl of something to
drink, and we watched the pair of rocky eyes
swivel in a murky blue dreamscape, trying to
dance but having no feet to coordinate
their steps with. I sipped from the wooden mouth
in my hands and tasted a hot star on my tongue,
and I knew that with this in my belly, the sun
would burn extra bright and make up for the frost
developed under my boots by the hostile
double evening of celestial confusion.
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