Out on the Deck at Sirens

When I was a child
the moon was solid rock
captive to laws of physics
Father talked about.

In my thirteenth year
it worked itself free,
moon a loose coin
turning above my bed.

When I was twenty
we could buy moonlight.
Nights at the Fillmore I burned
brighter than the strobes.

And here I am, witched silly
by a spatter of light,
wanting what I've always wanted,
old enough to get it right.

 

Poems by Sharon Fain: