This poem is taken from PN Review 229, Volume 42 Number 5, May - June 2016.
Mothball Moon
‘Having been breathed out’ [Sappho]
my mother died.
We folded her arms
as if she were
a fortune cookie
with a secret paper tucked inside.
Now she sits in a big jar on my father's chest of drawers
where inside are his perfectly folded
sweaters
T-shirts
socks
boxer
underwear.
I want to know if the Moon
shines inside the black hole
of a big conch shell
like a mothball inside a dark
drawer, just opened.
...
my mother died.
We folded her arms
as if she were
a fortune cookie
with a secret paper tucked inside.
Now she sits in a big jar on my father's chest of drawers
where inside are his perfectly folded
sweaters
T-shirts
socks
boxer
underwear.
I want to know if the Moon
shines inside the black hole
of a big conch shell
like a mothball inside a dark
drawer, just opened.
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 285 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 285 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?