Full Cold Moon (for Jack)

Lindsey Warren

In my little room

it is snowing

and the walls look

blue for it, even their

shadows, on someone

 

a star is setting

or rising, they hold

close the pink tea

winter sky.

A moon for your

 

pupil, a comma for

your other pupil, between

them a lifetime of

lost glances. Whatever is

chair in me

 

remembers you. Whatever

is over sits in this room,

the one of my life. You made it

this far, so I will

tell you: Last night

 

I prayed in bed

and the sun came in,

she wore your ankles.

I heard her talk in her

sleep about how dew against

 

her palm makes her

feel like a fish,

and how she wished

it were that simple. Where

are you. I took the snow

 

for you as I always

do and did not stop

to think that maybe

your muscles ache, or your

breath, or the silence that hums

 

behind your soul, and I

am haunted by what

I will not admit I

love. You made it

so far. I am ankle-

 

deep in snow

and it carries your name,

you are upon me.

I will tell the

winter, and the day. 


Lindsey Warren is a recent graduate of Cornell University’s MFA program. She is currently at Cornell not as a student, but as a freshman writing instructor and a creative writing teacher. She has been published in The Fox Chase Review, Broadkill Review, Icarus Down, Secret Lovers Press, Lame Kid Zine, Rubbertop Review, Marathon Review, GASHER Journal, Josephine Quarterly and Hobart, and am forthcoming in Dark Wood, Figure 1, Rabid Oak, Anti-Heroin Chic and Sorority Mansion Review. Lindsey has had an excerpt of her long poem “Incantation” on display as an exhibit at the Biggs Museum in Dover, Delaware, and another poem of hers is featured in an anthology entitled What Keeps Us Here:  Songs from the Other Side of Trauma. She is the recipient of a Delaware Division of the Arts Fellowship and has been a finalist for the Delaware Literary Connection Prize and the Joy Harjo Prize.

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