On an evening when the moon is particularly spectacular, my friend James says to his neighbor,
“Have you seen the moon?”

She says, “No. What’s wrong with it?”

Membranous, warm, full,
A palpable throb
In the midst
Of those cold shards,
The stars.

Full as an udder,
Translucent, a sac,
Full, I tell you, like a drip.
And I thought about that—
The moon suddenly dropping
Kerplunk                gone.

 

Nancy McLelland
September. 2003