mama! she shrieks
I throw back the sheets, leap
run naked through night
but can’t make it into her dream
the place she needs me most
*
whatever the moon
says, that is what I
say, too
*
rushing out
to smell the morning
before its gone
there will be other mornings
but only one like this
and the congregation says, Amen! three times. (and a “Glory Hallelujah!” while we’re at it.)
any of these three would have sufficed, but noooooo… you graciously gift us all three. thank you thank you thank you.
Is that the ghost of William Stafford I hear?
So lovely, a bit of him through you. And I
do think these Nightlings are singing.
Hey friend, which Stafford poem are you thinking of? I am not aware of any channeling … Though I should be so lucky!
Xo r
oh! Ask Me! I love that poem! I am sure that it was subconsciously in there … yikes. It’s very Staffordish!
What the river says, that is what I say.
“All writers steal. Good writers steal well.” Good job, Rosemerry; you’ve done well! (Even if unawares.)