Mother Moon Poem by Jenny Kalahar

The low, full moon pours milk upon these branches
milk that will not last once dawn has come.
Wobble-legged calves gather under them at night
and crane their necks as if to breasts.
Dripping autumn leaves and twigs
nurse their strange mammalian babes
abandoned by mothers who have wandered
into leaning barns to stand alone

The low, full moon pours milk upon this empty sea
it streams outward toward the blind horizon
a slick of cream on waters ebony
never mixing with the waves,
waves that bob, coo
and caress scores of gentle fish, also motherless
who rise to suck the milky moonlight
flashing contentment in their round, round eyes