Moons of my Childhood
Moons of My Childhood
The blue moon of July will rise,
The first of it's kind in three years.
The first full moon of this month was
the fuzziest shade of orange I
had ever seen, and it was huge
as it sat on the tippy-top of
the pine silhouettes;
the halo surrounding it
in the mists of the high clouds.
It reminded me of the summer nights
when I was a boy in the
Blue Ridge mountains,
and the crickets, and the bull frogs would
duel each other in chorus.
The horse-hair carpet was scratchy on the feet,
as I shuffled into the muggy breeze of
The Pennsylvania night in my
Hand-me-down Scooby-doo pajamas.
I would look up from my lead-paint-covered
window sill, weathered and worn,
waiting for the moon to
crack in half spilling its yoke onto the earth.