Crescent Moon
a poem about the crescent moon
Jul 29, 2019
Tonight the crescent moon hangs as thin and sharp
as the nail of a woman who’s been thinking
all night, looking at the moon, holding herself
like a forgotten gift. When she goes
to the bureau for the pistol, her mind is as clear
as the air, light as the thin coat of oil
on the metal. It lies
in her palm as heavy as sin. How easily
she moves to the door, as if
she were a character in a…
