Once again, I can’t get the blocked format of this poem to work on WordPress but I’ve got it laid out as best that I can.
collage © polly macdavid
(xviii the moon)
it’s the middle of the night & i’m running through empty downtown streets. wet with rain. colorful with neon reflections. i’m running. running. breathing hard. lungs aching in the cold damp air. suddenly i remember my disappointment at age 7 when the nuns said i was too sinful a girl to be allowed to crown the most holy virgin mary in the ceremony for our first communion. tears run down my cheeks. already wet with rain. i slow to a walk. & consider this strange dream i’m in. i look at the moon. floating through fat clouds. heavy with rain. my lover’s pregnant wife comes to mind.
© polly macdavid