Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.



Robert thinks my poems are too pure.

"Something is sacrificed to diction."

A teacher of versewriting and fiction,

Robert'd sacrifice a lot to speak sure.


Joe thinks my words interchangeable,

"'Familiar' and 'comfort' are the same."

I half tell him of my counting game;

I find Joe's comfort estrangeable.


Phil likes some lines, but can't say why

in a letter. Letters are all I get

from Phil. All last year I was high

in my lines, in my letters. Phil hasn't been here



There must be some man inside me, for

what men say of my rhymes adds a taste

to the ink. Is it all a sad waste? —

I've thought so at work on this before.


Tom loves my poems and loves me.

But death is familiar to Tom, so,

estrangeable poems, comfort, go,

start sure, fall off high, and let him be.


For women, love's so male muses, then.

Love's a funny thing just to write on.

It's not enough, maybe. I heighten

my heart aloud. That confuses men.


(Return to Contents)