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Moon's First Voyage, W. Heath Robinson, 1916 |
Moon
Boat
Don’t hitch your wagon to that star!
Climb on and let’s row this glowing sliver of moon
through a shimmering lake of milky starlight
Lean your back against this cratered curve
Pull these oars made from beams of purest moonlight
Did you feel us glide between Saturn’s rainbow rings?
If we come to rest near the brimming cup
of the Big Dipper
Let’s dive out for a quick bath
and a peek at whatever Orion keeps hidden
beneath his stiff scabbard
Then board our luminous vessel again
though we have no map or compass
no sails, no provisions
and nowhere to be
except
here
Galatean Scream
standing still
at math in the head
and triangulating even at
vast distances, in the dark
YOU
overtake me with a blast of wind
giggling dangerously
slicing through the heart of my
sleepless imaginings
promising daybreak
crumbling this immense solitude
digging open trenches of buried
sunbeam that
crest over the ridge of blue
silence as our
senses speak
I am only alive where you touch
me
How to be Charlotte Brontë
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The Bronte Sisters, Branwell Bronte, 1834 |
Desire more worldly experience
than you possess
Never settle for knitting
stockings, making puddings
playing on the piano or
embroidering bags
Tear meat with your teeth
Write less like a man than a
fallen seraph
with a message from the eternal
throne
Find a pilot in your seducer
Go down in love
Listen to the bustle of the busy
world, towns
regions brimming with life you
sense but never see
Hear them singing to you,
ringing your cranial bell
Let your heart heave with
exultant movement
Expand with life; open your inward
ear to a tale without end
a tale you create and
perpetually narrate
tempered in an actual flame
Abandon visionary woe
Grasp mortal happiness, even
when it sinks
sharp small animal mouths into
your skin
Even if you must blacken
yourself out of Eden’s family portrait
Sit quietly with apparitions,
near the window
in the parlor beside the charred
Horse Chestnut tree
Let ghosts probe you with hands
colder than wind
Want them
Don’t ever go to bed while
sunrise enfolds moonset
Cloak naked feet beneath your
long dress
the purple one that bares
your tattered hands
And when the long night cracks
open at last
like a raw egg across a plate of
sky
let the dawn come in you so hard
that
you know it is the first time
daylight ever really mattered
(This poem was first published in Convergence, Summer 2004
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