Prime Real Estate
Before anyone carves up the moon and sells it
to the highest bidder for condo-ringed golf courses,
fake palms and wrought iron gates,
tell me, please,
will it be the bright one I see poking through the branches
of the majestic maples in my backyard when I draw
the shades before turning in for the night?
Or the huge orange one surprising drivers
rushing toward the Jericho Turnpike horizon?
As that moon rises, the contours of a face emerge,
happy just to be there. Like Humpty, before his famous fall?
I hope they don’t choose the one lighting up the Long Island Sound
on warm summer nights when fishing boats sidle up to the dock
to unload weary passengers clutching their catch of the day,
poles and tackle boxes perhaps lined with empties
Or the thin crescent of light that floats effortlessly in a crisp dark sky
after the first snowfall, before the plows arrive.
The moon draws the tides into a dance with life itself,
so, no, my moons over Long Island are not for sale.
Emily-Sue Sloane lives in Huntington Station, NY, where beautiful vistas hide beyond crowded roadways. Writing poetry helps her to frame her personal observations within wider, more universal truths. Her work has appeared in Front Porch Review, The Bards Annual 2019 Poetry Anthology, Avocet, The Weekly Avocet, and other anthologies.