Thursday, April 23, 2015

Circles and Cycles

Circles and Cycles

the moon beyond the window
keeping us in frame,
hemmed in, domestic
looks like the hoop of earring
I threw off while we were fighting.
but the real thing sits there,
on a coffee table strewn with litter
and the c-shaped marks of mugs
(never bothering with coasters)
reveal: even my cup stains know
that I am no Olympiad.

turned on its head,
that silver skyward crescent
looks just like the scrubbed-clean
skin beneath your  fingernails.
those fingernails, like slivered almonds—
but that gets me thinking
of how often they have lived
inside my mouth.
you never did like to be the one
to dirty up your hands.
the sinking in of hooks
remains a specialty.

in the background,
the window does well
to divvy up the moon:
mullioned sections top and bottom,
some for me and some for you.
but in real life now
you’ve gone and
turned it upside down,
it’s come shining out your mouth
though I never would have guessed
the moon could leer.
Allison Collins

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