The Trike Returns:
Root
Tom Moore
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Cosmos
Let them go, dear -- the roses -- they will not
run off, nor will corn stalks march
into Poland. Who cares
if the slouching poppies tell
you of the bored young men
who courted you, they will not be rude.
And there's no report from the strawberries, either.
If there is, I'll remember your mouth.
Year after year, you have planted the cosmos
and they over-bloom themselves,
strutting through the pumpkins, the
bald peas, until they stumble, rootless, off the earth.
He dances on your love, this child, and promises
not to sell your stars. You believe him -- you
always would -- and he laughs, then you,
as he spills the stolen jewels in the dark.
~Tom Moore
Tom Moore writes: "I'm married with two kids, have a house on the top of a hill that overlooks Bellingham Bay, which is beautiful but not conducive for getting much work done. My day job is teaching history of ideas at Western Washington Universtiy and my major poetic influences are still the great modernists: Eliot, Rilke, Williams, Stevens." Email.
© 2002 by Tom Moore. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated August 31, 2002.