Comment on this article

Taming The Longing
by Cynthia Pratt

Secretly, I know
my name is Moon Whisperer.
Tonight, I lie awake,
a slip of light cracking through
branches, blue glow hitting windows.
I whisper, "Turn off," and clouds
cover the lunar face.

Before I learned my skill,
I named myself sleep drifter,
the night sliding into my mouth
where fox then roamed,
an owl hooted,
where I ran on foot to a lake
whose name was Constellation.
When I awoke, the dark had slinked

back into shadow.
The next night a full moon rose
above my pillow.
I said how much I loved him and
stroked the pane where his chin rested
then slept until morning.


 


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]