A REFRAIN, SUNG ONCE, TO HERSELF
One day, I worry, you will tell me
everything I’ve told you.
What do you have to say for yourself?
Did you think I wouldn’t be listening?
I don’t know.
There is a moon born every time I say alone
and tonight its light has left me sore.
I can see my breath, and I wonder about everything —
how I’m going to get home,
how to answer What’s your story?
how to ask you to walk with me.
“Listen, listen,” the moon, my polished child, says, “On your knees.”
I put my ear to the road.
I cut my hand on street glass.
I hear a sigh, I hear a step, I see you
ignoring the shadows, walking toward me.
I couldn’t say just anything.
— Carrie Oeding, from Our List of Solutions, 42 Miles Press, 2011.