By a Stream by Carol Louise Moon

Are dreams from water?

A man counts four river rocks.

Where is a young wife?

Four cats sleeping in a barn;

newly washed rags for bedding.

His hands are burl wood;

whittling tools are by his side.

His hair is graying;

old coveralls of denim.

She sings him her heart

as wind blows through cabin cracks.

Where do her thoughts go

that he should search through thistle?

Her apron is snug,

her black hair wrapped in a bun.

The woman is hard to please.

Walnut wood is shaped,

honed--gut strings attached.

The gift of music?

A right-handed instrument

might be played using both hands.

Who needs weeds, or love--

star-thistle, or a young wife?

The man strives with both.

Carol Louise Moon is a Simulated Client Actor, and a poet who has work published in Suisun Valley Review (CA), California Quarterly, Everything Stops and Listens (Ohio), Time of Singing (PA), Peeking Cat Poetry Mag (UK) and Sacramento Voices Anthologies.

Mourning Hair Wreaths by Carol Louise Moon

What is grief to me?

Cat is gone, but she'll return.

Was this her black hair?

Fingers run through strands of reed;

the basket weaver's busy.

It was pneumonia

took her. We gathered 'round her.

Gray hair was her pride--

said she'd earned every gray strand.

Now, what to do with

her pride, her hair, her mem'ry.

Our den wall stands cold

begging a photo of her.

Let's run our fingers

through her long hair that we might

know her still, though she has passed.

Grief wreaths are fashioned

using hair of the deceased.

Instructions are clear:

Weave while you are grieving. This

helps in fashioning your grief.

    small wren makes nest--twigs

    woven, cradling wren eggs--

    new bonds are forming







Carol Louise Moon is a Simulated Client Actor, and a poet who has work published in Suisun Valley Review (CA), California Quarterly, Everything Stops and Listens (Ohio), Time of Singing (PA), Peeking Cat Poetry Mag (UK) and Sacramento Voices Anthologies.

The Crimson of Spring by Carol Louise Moon

Anna's hummingbird would fit inside my pocket.

If only I could catch him with my hand. Crimson

is in the eye of the beholder this sunny day in

bloom along the curb.  A fantasy of crimson

seems to spring up everywhere.  Pockets of tiny

pink weed and red eye-winks of sweet pea--

spring's handiwork evident in our yard.

Crimson roses venture through our redwood

fence. Crimson breast of robin, brown eye-band

of cedar waxwing--Crow's eye is on the smallest

of them all.

Spring provides a bounty and a tragedy. Crimson

flow of blood--Crow's had his hand in this... and

something more.  Everywhere I sense a struggle.

Suddenly, the least of these will spring to flight

escaping heavy hand of Crow, his royal crimson

heart a pocket hole.

Though I love spring, and "Oh, 'tis grand," I see

the hand of fate--the surprise of crimson.

Carol Louise Moon is a Simulated Client Actor, and a poet who has work published in Suisun Valley Review (CA), California Quarterly, Everything Stops and Listens (Ohio), Time of Singing (PA), Peeking Cat Poetry Mag (UK) and Sacramento Voices Anthologies.

Waiting for a Green Sign by Carol Louise Moon

We are stuck, you and I,

in a jagged frame of time:

no two minutes are equal.

Sit quietly, if we must sit, and

wait patiently for the next thought

to materialize into a sign board

propped against that wooden chair.

From this vantage point

(you and I on the edge of our bed)

we will wait for a large green arrow

to inform us if we shall walk

down the hall to dine, or

gather your collar-and-leash

and allow you to walk me

through the garden.

Either way,

wait for the green arrow

and stop visualizing a stop sign.

Carol Louise Moon is a Simulated Client Actor, and a poet who has work published in Suisun Valley Review (CA), California Quarterly, Everything Stops and Listens (Ohio), Time of Singing (PA), Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine (UK) and Sacramento Voices anthologies.