Funny Carpet, Serious Magic
 
The moon can hear.  Did you know?
No, I mean hear.   Glisten must be G
plus listen.  Let me tell you how I know.
 
A stubby, between-story roof  jutted
over the front porch of a house
my mother threatened my father
with life or death if he didn't agree
to buy.   The room she assigned
to me with the stipulation that things
be kept her way provided a portal,
as it turned out.  The window beside
the bed could be nudged into opening
with barely a sound so I could squeeze
pajamaed skin and bone through
when the house grew silent.  The roof
was half-melted, having been baked
by a put-out sun. It dug into my thighs
and butt, but it was all that was keeping me
from sliding.   I was hanging on tight
when I got a shock.  Pinned to the sky
was a circle too big and beautiful
to be real. At first, I decided an angel
had cut it out of paper she made herself.
It wasn't angel colored.  More silver
with shades of gray.  As the summer
wore on, gold began to shimmer
in unexpected ways.  The paper turned
to the sad but peacefully waiting face
of a woman like none I had known.
Talk to me, she crooned.  I don't tell.
You will feel better, I promise.
I was so startled, I almost fell.
But I could see I had a friend.  Blue
when I started to confide,  her silver
rubbed off.  Even a little of her gold.
 
Do not believe a mere mortal.  Climb
a ladder if you have to, but get close
enough to really look.  If you listen,
she will.  Just be very, very still.

(c) Phyllis Jean Green,  February, 2006