Published September 1, 2021
by Juliette Stephens
(Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada)
The white moon rose over your shoulder like a broken heart
drained of colour, head bowed in defeat
to a god that only shows its face when death is near
passing beneath your feet in a path
of fluid destruction
veered just far enough off course
that you may walk through one more fire unscathed
and maybe you pray
or you hold my hand a little tighter,
for the night
when the moon rises again, pale with hunger
searching once more for your broken heart
wishing it could fall below the horizon in shame
when it found you no longer in prayer
when it felt your lips, blood red, loving and free of pain
my unearthed flesh still calloused and numb,
caresses your creek like paraffin wax
as I lower my aching bones to sleep on the floor
the creaking moon whispers of its loneliness
and so I lie, searching on behalf of its hunger
that flesh may never regain colour, may never turn to scar
without pause you push aside my fears,
ill conceived as they are, they are only there to elicit a spark,
a friction,
the rope burns as I lower my pail,
to draw from the well of sympathy inside your burdened heart
I can see how my shadow cast into its depths,
eclipses the circle of light
I see it tremble before me in the waters sheen
yet the pail rises dry to my hands
crumbling chalk, i caress the heavenly, breaking body
brittle as my bone, white as my flesh
i hang my head alone
bowed in defeat to its broken heart
Biography
Juliette Stephens is an East Vancouver poet. She is interested in the capacity of poetry to help you understand how you feel when you don't think you feel anything. She enjoys canoeing and jokes that don't quite make sense.
Previously published in Vancouver Poetry Magazine:
"up on level 9" by Melanie Friedman
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