House of the Tomato

If a woman wants to be a poet, she must dwell in the house of the tomato. -- Erica Jong

Regional website for the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, in partnership with the Reader's Loft.


Celebrating, sharing and inspiring poetry throughout Wisconsin.

To the Moon and Back

The August full moon really spoke to me.. (Sept 12 was the 5th anniv of my mother's death.and now this week it is HER full moon, the Sept moon).  Actually I sent this in for the Triad contest--wanted to enter and didn't have anything so I wrote this. I'm still not liking my last line. Wanted a better "turn or punch" at the end. (And I think it needs more images?)

She loved the full moon.
Late at night my mother stood in the driveway
gazing up, just before heading to bed.

Sometimes it was an orange ball
other times a bright turtle egg.
Watching TV in the summer of ‘69

she saw Neil Armstrong walk on it,
the same summer her son was a soldier in Vietnam.
She lived through nine decades of full moons

During her last days, I pushed her failing body
outside to the hospice garden.
Crickets and grasshoppers fibrillated like a racing heart

nearing the end of their life cycle.
For seven days she held on,
we listened to cricket wing and grasshopper chants.

But it was the moon that finally called her
on a warm summer night,
I told her it was her night. Her moon.

 I pulled the bed close to the open window
moonlight shining on her face;
late that night, she went out on the moon.

Now it is I who stands in the driveway on my way to bed,
listening to crickets and grasshoppers all legs and wings
vibrating on warm summer nights,

and when the moon is full it brings me to my knees.


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