First Published Issue 1, Summer 2009
Nina Romano
The Moon and Me on Water-Heavy Nights
On a water-heavy night like this, I’m caught between a think-piece
movie and sleep—the scenes replay as I fight sheet, blanket and pillow.
I stalk the house barefoot. Moonglow ignites the cool flooring,
etching a passageway to the kitchenette where I drink from the faucet and fret,
knowing, I need sleep as tomorrow’s a holiday and I have to cook.
Moonshadows cast beams through the window’s glass on this night,
water-heavy, when my mind, segueing the moon commandeering
the tides, floats in space then dives into aquatic depths,
seeking unsolvable solutions, asking questions scientists still dispute,
repeating lines from the movie I’ve lived before in another Universe.
A WINDOW VIEW IN WINTER
Looking out the window of my wash room,
snow swirls carpet the mountains.
I envision women swathed in white,
removing the burqa covering their faces
safe now from purdah, in the sanctuary
of a cave or grotto household.
As they kneel on woven rugs
washing clothes in buckets with chilblain hands,
so chapped and cracked,
the rinse water bleeds red.
Frozen hands, gnarled and knotted,
this frozen moment in time.
In the hush of my mountain home,
a prayer escapes my lips
for women in other mountain dwellings,
for women on washday,
everyday
throughout the year.
Copyright © Nina Romano 2009.