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 ReviewAji 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.