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Moonlight by Lucy Whitehead


We went out at midnight on the coastal road

to gather moonlight years ago

on a school night.

I remember how in the deep silence

it bounced off the glimmering autumn tarmac

snaking away like a bubbling silver river,

flowered in glittering dark waves

rolling towards us far below, broke

open on the cracked granite cliffs,

danced on the fingers of thousands

of wet fern leaves shimmering

the black undergrowth

like fairy lace

past the bronze age burial chamber

once full of sleeping kings,

seeped invisibly into the lighted rims

of our open pickle jars.

We screwed the lids

on tight, wrapped the cold glass

inside warm coats, dared not look

back as we stole silently away.

Once home, we lined

our bedroom windowsills

with glinting rows of captured moonbeams,

used them to heal our illnesses,

to seal our wounds.

Lucy Whitehead writes haiku and free verse. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Amethyst Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Barren Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Broken Spine Artist Collective, Burning House Press, Clover and White Literary Magazine, Coffin Bell, Collective Unrest, Cypress, Electric Moon Magazine, Fevers of the Mind, Ghost City Review, Kissing Dynamite Poetry, Mookychick Magazine, 3 Moon Magazine, Neon Mariposa Magazine, Parentheses Journal, Pink Plastic House, Pussy Magic, Re-side, and Twist in Time Literary Magazine and in numerous international haiku journals and anthologies. You can find her on Twitter @blueirispoetry.


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