She would not add her voice
To any discourse, fearing the
Possible controversy of her
Thoughts. Contentious is not
Content nor contented. What
Would do in her circumstance
But to hold silent, to not voice
The differences in their ideas
The full moon, foolish, yet
It takes its hovering and
Its haunting seriously as
It shines over the sky and
Beams into our windows.
Every month for twelve, it
Takes its plumpest shape
And beams a bright light
My way. Its effects make
Me foolish as if I had been
There, on the moon's face
Lighter in its atmosphere
Less weighty and serious
Myself, ready to play each
Month in the clear bright
Moonshine of a full moon
The sassy moon fulsome and
Full, plump, hanging low in the
Center of my sky, even as the
Morning light begins to clear
Away the night that was never
Truly dark under the shine of
That fat moon or the electricity
From high-rises in its vicinity
Skies at night have no right to
Be so bright, and if they must
Be so, the moon should be the
Only beacon, the only light that
Paves the way, the sassy moon,
The savvy moon, January's light
You will say it is not but
Summers that mark our
Life. There's winters too.
You will be wise. I will be
Foolish. But as it is my life
And I will mark it, year upon
Year, by the passing of the
Summers. Cool nights, and
Warm days. Idyllic summers
Day follows day, each in its
Succession makes my life
Warm days cool nights
Succeed each other to
No greater purpose than
To make up a summer
And summer succeeding
One upon the other to no
Greater or lesser purpose
Than to make up a life
The looming sky hangs over
Hiding the light in a sudden
Moment. No, wait, the sun is
A bright center of the clouds.
It's cold. We all agree on that.
The sky even looks cold. It's
Giving me an icy stare when
I cast my gaze at its horizon.
Over my right shoulder, I feel
Heat, warming my ear. I turn
To see the blinding low-lying
Sun, the culprit, and the hero
Of my tale. It has cut through
Reaching me mid-crossing, a
Cozy embrace, so unexpected
But so very welcome today.
A dead mouse lies sprawled
On the sidewalk, its tail like
The tails of the leaves around
Me; it's easily mistaken for the
Fallen brown leaves in the
Quiet of its ending. I walk with
Care, suspicious of every leaf
I pass. Should we have so
Many rodents in our midst?
So very many dying leaves?
Today, I am surrounded by that
Same sky I admired a few days
Ago. Well, not same. Clouds are
So versatile that no two days in
A row or set apart by a few days
And a new year evoke the same
Sky. It's new and billowing in a
Breeze, although the clouds are
Stiller than my hat which blows
Off, stopping at my outstretched
Hand. It's right to complain that
The gusts make the cold colder.
Ah, sure, but oh my there's that
Sky!
Tamara, really