Pretty moon, everyone said.
Before the noise, before

the fire. Two cars
and the cornfields idle…

From time to time, we re-present work that has been first been published elsewhere.  This  heartrending poem about nature’s imperviousness to human sorrow is worth more than one reading, and we are pleased to feature it as a Web extra….


Pretty moon, everyone said.
Before the noise, before

the fire. Two cars
and the cornfields idle

on either side. Like the eggs
of monkfish, emerging

a million at a time, knitted
into a gauzy shroud,

forty feet long, buoyant,
built for dispersal – the veil

between us and them,
thin. My cousin,

beautiful at sixteen,
dead at seventeen.

Pretty, pretty moon.
And me, at five, mouth open

not to a scream or even
to a word. Just taking in air,

quietly as a spider
entering a room.


-First appeared in Rove Poetry, Spring 2015

Lisa Dordal, author of Commemoration from Finishing Line Press, is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of an Academy of American Poets Prize.  Her poetry has appeared in a variety of journals, including Best New Poets, Cave Wall, CALYX, The Greensboro Review and Nimrod.

Moon image from