Does one wonder in hidden moonlight, drowned
by noonday sun, if lunacy seeps even now into
cracks, pores, follicles, corners of eyes? Surely
this maelstromic soup, part mother, part father,
part those who piled invectives during years
best forgotten, cannot have coalesced entirely
without simmering by some stronger force?
93/100
100 poems in 100 days
[how weird! WordPress refused to add the tag “nurture”…and only that one…]
We gathered with friends to welcome the New Year with simple Southern fare: ham, boiled potatoes, boiled cabbage, biscuits. After loosening our creaky social graces with applications of Belgian beer, my Southern brother of a different mother lit up his new chiminea and we talked of things ponderous and trivial. The moon stared us down, afraid to blink for missing our ephemeral lives. Oak hissed and crackled in the fire.
At one point we paused to look at the pretty effects of his neighbor’s light pollution…
Finally we admitted our backsides were too cold and our frontsides were getting quite toasty. We headed indoors, while tarted up versions of the trees danced in our heads…
