In Half – A Villanelle

The branches cut the moon in half tonight,

and as I peer at the sky I know:

In one thousand ways you are more than I.

Who are you to glisten with colored light,

a hypnotizing glow on your face, though

the branches cut the moon in half tonight?

There is nothing there to give you stage fright

when the song in my head is yours, you know.

In one thousand ways you are more than I.

Lost somewhere deep in a city of light

while I’m barefoot on a dim country road.

The branches cut the moon in half tonight.

You haven’t thought of me, I bet, in spite

of my crossed fingers–they’re for you–although

in one thousand ways you are more than I.

The spotlight follows as you leave stage right

while tonight I’m all right just here alone.

The branches cut the moon in half tonight.

In one thousand ways you are more than I.

In the Checkout Line

Chocolate ice cream–the kind that makes

my little brother

cough.

Soy milk–

with the blue cap.

Dog food–

the kind that

Michael buys for Roxy.

Eggs–

the chickens were lucky

to not be sold for meat.

Listerine–

the green kind that

stings

my sister’s tongue.

A pack of mechanical pencils–

the kind with the lead that

breaks

when I write with it.

In the Checkout Line by Bri Reisinger is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Where I’m From

Image Source: James Lee – flickr.com

I’m from the chill of November-
A Scorpion in the woods.
I’m from a wide river,
Water flowing over a rocky shore.
I’m from the Susquehannocks,
A family of sorts.
Close in relation,
Yet every man for himself.
I’m from the black of night
Lit by a full moon.
I’m from the Alpha’s call,
Pounding paws running in the dark.
I’m from obedience,
With a feisty edge.

I’m from a long howl,
A greeting to the full moon.
I’m from the pulse of tribal drums,
The dances, the laughter, the beat.
I’m from the hushed footfalls of a Native,
Quiet mind, pounding feet.
I’m from falling leaves,
The red, the yellow, the green.
I’m from the fallen arrowheads
Peeking through the grass, pointing at the stars.
I’m from the yellow of a wild owl’s eyes
As he stalks his prey from a tree.
I’m from the chill of November–
A Scorpion in the woods.

Where I’m From by Bri Reisinger is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.