2005-01-25
The Moon Grins At Me

I stood at the sink, hot water rushing over the knife in my hands and my delicate fingers. My right hand grasped the sponge with which I intended to scrub the knife clean and my left hand was strategically poised so that no water would pour over and blur the little ink mark on it.

My eyes gazed out the little, homely kitchen window, crowded with houseplants; at the wanton yellow moon, beaming down on me heavy and full in the midst of the sable sky.

He whispered your name to me, telling me that he could see you moving about and the light in your eyes.

I smiled back at him widely as a cloud scudded across his quietly burning face. I stared at him a long time, unmoving, my hands shriveling under the steady flow of water. All the while, he serenaded me softly with stories of you.

before & & after