Author Information
Becoming Conscious After Eating A Yellow Moon
as it rode low, and slowly
encountered a twilight sky.
it tasted like vanilla crunch.
but you know, eating the moon
gives you a headache,
like the kind you get if your face
was slammed against the wall,
then kicked in the gut
when you were down.
the kind of headache
I’ve had since I was three;
at least that is what I was told.
I can’t remember much
about those early days.
besides the headaches,
I have been deaf since ten
and I carry a limp as well
as a glass eye
from having philosophical
discussions with each cellar step
as I bounced down.
I now find it hard to open the cellar door
cause I swear I hear crying
coming from down there.
I know it must be me
sprawled on the blood soaked floor
and I think I might go crazy
if I saw myself.
for the longest time
I loved him; would follow him
do everything I could to please him.
bring him his pipe
or the newspaper
get him coffee.
except on those days
where his eyes were red and he stank of piss. then
I would plead:
“oh daddy. don’t be mad at me.
please don’t hit me. no,
no, not mr. johnson, that
hurts so much.
I’ll be good. I promise.”
I never meant to push him back,
to knock him down the stairs
I guess if I had called
the ambulance right away
everything would have been okay.
but the judge said that it was wrong
to stab him so many times;
to cut off his johnson
and stick it in his mouth.
somehow though,
I never understood why.
it’s not like he begged
for mercy
and he never once cried!
back from another conversation
with electricity,
sitting in my room
at St. Mary’s starring blankly
at this huge, yellow moon.
as I savor its vanilla crunch,
I am trying to understand why
I feel like I am to blame?
trying to remember if I ever smile;
work up the courage to hate him.
POWERfull-writing
It takes courage to write of pain - I ususally sidestep it or hint...in novels the worst of human/huwoman makes the top of best seller's list fastest. I've been sad/depressed, but bounce back. Some don't which is sad and depressing. The poem is wide-open, in yr face real - best advice on the autobiog i could get - the real zone is going to be hardest to write. Be well - the old poem is an incredible force! - Lady A