The Trike Returns:
Root
Susan M. Kennedy
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The Night I Fought A Dixie Moon
This August moon appears intent,
sagacious in his steady beam
spotlighting the splendor
of home.
Stay! Pine trees whisper,
swaying movement offers a glimmer of
silken moonwhite between branches.
honey-scented air tickles my senses
with memories of childhood moonwashed nights.
I'm onto you, old man.
You're a mass of gases,
a hunk of rock,
Nothing more.
He winks,
sidles, sure and sly behind the barn,
then rises again
with a new challenge.
Lakewater beckons, glows,
glistens around my toes.
I wade further, defiant --
splashing light,
reckless, swimming deep,
deeper, into my moonglow addiction.
At long last, I surface.
Splitting the darkness with my gasps,
I offer him my glistening face,
reflecting his own glory.
Resigned, I grin,
lick my finger,
and chalk up one more win
for the Dixie moon.
~Susan M. Kennedy
Susan writes from a cluttered desk in Texas, with frequent stops to remove a cat from the keyboard, a crayon from the printer, or feed hungry faces. Email.
© 2002 by Susan M. Kennedy. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated August 31, 2002.