LUNAR GHAZAL Don’t blame how inmates behave on the moon. Earth’s gravity makes a slave of the moon. I want a god to claim me, make me rise. To yearn for Her as seas crave the moon. After dark, we burn wolfsbane, dance skyclad. Leave free from burdens we gave to the moon. Labile as a woman, she sheds faces. Thin, wan moon. Swollen, veiled moon. Grave moon. Party guests gather in groups on the lawn. Bats circle, rise. Seem to wave to the moon. Sister of the unbalanced, she calls for their souls to fly up and join her. Brave moon. The children grow, find partners, leave us. Endymion’s mom never forgave the moon. Years turn rock gods to portly dads. Flowers brown by the hour. Passing days shave the moon. Regrets swell like feeding mosquitoes. If only… We mourn what we couldn’t save. Moon- light lies—flaws silvered over. Extol her anyway, Alison. Rave about the moon.
Alison Stone has published seven full-length collections and three chapbooks, most recently Zombies at the Disco (Jacar Press, 2020). She was awarded Poetry’s Frederick Bock Prize and New York Quarterly’s Madeline Sadin award. A licensed psychotherapist, she is also a visual artist and the creator of The Stone Tarot.
“Lunar Ghazal” was previously published in Zombies at the Disco (Jacar Press, 2020).
All rights © Alison Stone
a moon of one's own 