At its fullest point, the moon is so grand
in the sky: a giant mango bursting from
ripeness, everyone can't help but look
at it and salivate. Maybe it's all a matter of
scale, or whatever it is you eat that morning—
dried fish and rice? butter and jam? A girl
shrinks until she fits into a door the size
of a mouse hole, or she'll grow until her head
butts against the ceiling. When a writer
rises to speak onstage, she removes
her blazer and we see her bronzed arms
and back muscles, shown off to advantage
by the spaghetti strap maxi she's wearing.
With the spotlights full on your face, everyone
in the audience sees you but you can't see their
expressions: are they crying or laughing, bored
or breaking out into wild applause? Sometimes
it's good to not know everything. It's enough
to imagine the stories that go on without you—
you don't have to pretend to understand them
or live them out until the very end.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
