Moon, two faced mother
the moon thundering down the rails
like a lighthouse.
she kicks her heals in the air,
she comes peeping through the window panes
blushing on the floorboards
she sits high in the sky,
swollen and fertile
the flapper debutant in the chandelier
other nights the dark absence
the bruise of new moon
no longer flashing lover, or peepshow extraordinaire
but a silhouette hanging
low in the sky
like a body lynched and shuddering
Sarah Summerson is a poet hailing from small-town central Pennsylvania. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in *82 Review, Aji Magazine and The Good Men Project, as well as the upcoming anthology of Southwest poems from Dos Gatos Press, Weaving the Terrain. You can follow her on twitter @SarahSummersun for all the tidbits that couldn’t find a home in a poem.