Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

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Sometimes when it gets too much


the pulse, when on rainy late afternoons

it shakes at nothing, and nothing will quench it,

it is well to remember other dark days

when halos of radiance swung in other rooms,

and comfort was seeing — green kitchens

thick with chatter and laughter, where

absorption and alienation mingled in camaraderie

of spirit, and in the mind shook someone

to comfort, life being all it is, a touch, a


a silence to dwell on for generations,

heavy shoulders shaken — oh then we could shake

for the war, for our fathers, for memories,


or how to absorb acceptance, the pen once thrust,

I am here, I have duties, I sing

in the shallow rooms, like an underground moon,

it's not a willful negation, only

sometimes it shakes and loses continuity,

and sometimes only tiredness can tell me

that I lived otherwise — and look what I have,

a whole life, pulses to shake when memory,

brushed often out of the way with soft words,

meets the situation. Do not tell me that I am


I was not fearful in crowded rooms

where strangers wept private tragedies

and the flutter of a heart could save a life

that would reappear only here, shaking

timid limbs, hands, hello, farewell.


Let the past speak for itself. I am living

as always. You can find me here any evening

shaken into tranquility that the years recognize

like an old friend who understands everything.


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