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96th Weekly Poetry Contest winner: Blue Moon River Walk

by frithar

Blue Moon River Walk


It is a month with two moons. My son asks if I want to walk

the night-town. At sixteen, he cannot say the words: he feels

the call, the pull of that second moon on his blood. These


abandoned streets, shelled and bleak, only television echoes

tell us we are not truly alone. Lights flicker on and off, wordless.

In two blocks, we hear our river—the unspoken goal. We can


hear the green. Nightwinds and thick weeds reed the rush of too

many streams here combined: zippered, enjoined, Gypsy travelers

smithing their own journey-music. We peer between trees, catching


illusions. Moon licks wave tips like a pianist, a faerie war too fast 

to follow. I would stay forever but he moves ahead. Boat-dock

rhythms draw him onto water. He accepts the false safety of wood,


lies down to be mother-rocked and creaked. The trees over us, so 

heavy with fireflies, erupt in pixie lights. We are being watched. This

night cannot be happening, but it is: all these star-clusters and comets.

See all the entrants to 96th Weekly Poetry Contest