Mosaic of the near side of the moon as taken by the Clementine star trackers. The images were taken on March 15, 1994. In this view, north is up. The bright crater near the bottom of the image is the Tycho. Photo from NASA photo gallery of the moon.

I was convinced there was no cool, dry space in my brain in which to nurture poems. Grateful to be proven wrong! (I’m supposed to be writing a poem a day for April, and I’m hopeful this is the first of many times we’ll get our (draft of a) poem on on the blog this month.)

“Poem for the Night”

The easy answer is that it began with grief.
the sun dumbstruck, the moon full and sulky.

Another answer is that it began with the moon,
the way it always appeared weeping,

the way someone wished it into a weapon.
The question had something to do with the lack

of sorrow on the knife’s crescent blade, the lack
of a lullaby to outshout the recalcitrant moon.

From outside someone asked, Does it always sob this loudly?
Someone else sang so loudly even the moon had to shout.

Grief, meanwhile, curled into the room’s abandoned mouth.
Silent and sinful as a wolf, it held its tongue.