Taking Out the Garbage

Taking Out the Garbage

   I pile the bags between sidewalk and curb
   Brush my hands on my shorts
   Stand under the moon.
   The warm, heavy night embraces
   Clouds trail like fingers across a pulsing sky.

   I could bare my breasts and rise to the moon
   Wide open, begging to be filled
   Shattering into shards of light.
   I breathe in the night sky instead,
   Turn and walk back inside,
   Close your window, smooth your quilt,
   Put your bear back into your arms,
   Listen once more for your steady breath.

COPYRIGHT 2004 Mothering Magazine
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group