“Moon-laden” by Anne Graue

Moon-laden

a golden shovel,
The moon lays a hand on my forehead.
— from “Barren Woman” by Sylvia Plath

My heart is laden with apostrophe, with collected revelations, with the
heaviness of a plow cutting through earth under a new moon,
aware of itself and its possibilities, aware that it lays
between science and myth, reality and fantasy, a
solid and hollow presence, offering little, not one hand
in its own making, its definition, its status on
the list of deities, a demi-goddess outside my
window, gesturing down toward the oceans with tilted forehead.

Anne Graue

Anne Graue (she/her) is the author of Full and Plum-Colored Velvet, (Woodley Press, 2020), and Fig Tree in Winter (Dancing Girl Press, 2017). Find her poetry in Sundress Publications’s Best Dressed Blog, Verse Daily, Poet Lore, SWWIM Every Day, Spoon River Poetry Review, Gargoyle, Unbroken Journal, and River Heron Review. Her work also appears in anthologies, including Blood and Roses: An Anthology in Honor of Aphrodite and Coffee Poems. Her book reviews have been published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Kenyon Review, The Rupture, Green Mountains Review, and The Rumpus. She is a poetry editor for The Westchester Review.

Headshot: Anne Graue

Photo Credit: Staff