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published
in The North, 2003
and
The Forward Book of poetry, 2004
Woman on the moon
This is the longest
night I’ve ever faced.
I’m
putting it off while I write to you
watching
blues creep up.
The
earth has been huge in our sky all day
and
as it sank, I felt I could reach out
and
touch you, but all the time indigo
was
seeping into the valley.
Now
it’s flooded and the hills
are
like shadowed snow.
An
hour ago we spoke by satellite.
You
told me all you’d been doing.
I
said I’d being X-raying moonrock
and
you went quiet; that I’d been walking
and
my footsteps would lie there always,
that
there’s no wind
and
you said, ‘There must be.’
I
said, ‘The light that comes here from earth
is
blue and I’m losing it. Nights here
are
as long as fourteen days on earth,’
and
you said, ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
It
should soon be time for your father
to
give you your supper and afterwards
both
of you will go into the garden
but
I’ll be on the side of the moon
that’s
turning towards space.
Jean Harrison
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