the moon still rises
This will not be a poem about the tragedy in Japan –
I’m ill-equipped, in these lines, to speak to that magnitude,
to rein any of that water in. So instead, I will tell you about a woman
entering surgery in less than an hour, and the cancer making a rude
visit to her breast. This poem is for her, for the fear she carries,
and the rage too, and the millimeter of faith that I hope is weathering
the storm. This poem is for that cluster of cells, even, the hive of bees
stinging inside her, because they are crucial to the path she’s entering.
I don’t know how the poem will end. There’s always one more sentence to write.
The moon still rises, even on the darkest night.