Like a flour smudge on an old blue apron,
A lunchtime moon thumbprints the sun-plowed,
Snow-scrabbled heavens of Harmony, Maine.
Last night three cops shot Danny McDowell
On South Road, down by the shack you and I rented
That hard winter when the northern lights glowed
And the washing machine froze and I got pregnant.
I built a five-inch snowboy for our half-inch embryo.
You took a picture of it cradled in my mittens.
But today, too late, too late, I see I forgot to worry
About this moon, this ominous rock waxing half-bitten
Over our clueless sentimental history.
Picture it falling. A white egg, neat and slow.
It doubles. Redoubles. Till all we see is shadow.
"Astrolabe" is one of several sonnets scattered throughout my new collection, Same Old Story. If you have been meaning to acquire a copy of the book, now might be a good time to do so. CavanKerry Press has just announced a special deal on its spring 2014 titles. For a limited time, friends, family, and acquaintances can order Same Old Story directly from the press instead of going through the distributor. The collection will sell for 15 percent off the list price with free shipping to anywhere in the United States.
Place orders by contacting managing editor Starr Troup at firstname.lastname@example.org.
And thank you for your friendship and your support of my work.