In honor of the last One Shot Wednesday hosted by the team that has brought so much encouragement and growth to so many writers, myself most of all, I'd like to dedicate this entry with the thanks of a full heart to
Brian Miller, Adam Dustus, Pete Marshall, Chris Galford, Claudia Schoenfeld
& Gay Cannon.
You will be missed.
Summer Night Dyad
The Night, The Moon and The Lovers
Up and above in the swinging night,
far from red walls and flying knives,
the kestrel flies with a mouse in her mouth.
The scorpion wags her tail in the south.
The firedrake sleeps in his sulphurous cave
spooned in the high cliff above the wave.
A flickering lantern orange and brief
still fights the moon in her silver sheath;
two lovers sail in a boat of breath
and love till they have nothing left.
When the heart is spent and hollowed like clay,
it becomes a lamp to light the way
Skybluepink lips of deepest night
cup the moon in an overbite;
she’s a melting scoop of vanilla ice cream
tipped in a cone of clouded dream.
The flame persists though the wind is sharp;
The faeries come out to dance to the harp.
The beating heart of night rocks
the star cradle on her breast gently gently
in the warm southern wind,
but still every so often a star falls out
bright and sudden, a streak thin as a broom straw
scratched off against purple floor,
a white chip on black china
a match that lights
and is blown out.
Oh to be in that cradle rocking, lulled
with the whistling of constellations,
the voice of a mother, vast and mild
caring as much as she can
for her brood of legion,
at the edge of
Process Note: Sky blue pink is a color my grandparents used to tease me with as a child. If I complained about wearing something, they would always say, "What do you want, a sky blue pink dress?"
Photo: Blue Moon with Skybluepink Clouds, by joy ann jones, july 2011