Skip to main content

Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
Home
Contents
Biographies
Submissions
Archives
Editors
Contact Us
Publications
Policies

Super Moon

 

 

It glares at us past the one

bursting yellow deck bulb.

You say Stand still so it’ll turn off.

 

It is white and nestled between the beech

branches, with their many green

fists now untwirling,

an orb in the socket of the spring.

 

You take my arm and pull us away

into the head of the marshy field

and it is as though the long silence

is replaced by the light of the opaque sky,

 

the bay’s fog glowing like snow caked

in the air, the edge of the Earth

squeezing on us over the water.

For once this far North

I can see my feet, and I follow you

without the blindness of nighttime.

 

                                          —Emma Krosschell