by Becky Alexander
August 29, 2004
It was one of those nights
when the moon ran the sky
like a fullblown madam.
You were hot with a throb
that set your teeth, singed skin,
opened doors you’d never pushed before.
Black clouds slid over red light and darkness
was deep enough to slice with a blade.
Wind off the harbour scorched ears, reddened eyes.
Laughter rang with unholy glee,
catcalls blended into the unclean heart of night,
and we swayed snakelike, a deep pulsing throng.
One of those nights when the moon bled the sky,
when no friend stood with any other,
and shuffling angels fanned the earth with black wings.
(Previously published in Ascent Aspirations anthology Nanoose B.C., Dec. 2005, in STREET, Hamilton ON, March 22, 2007, and on Hammered Out blog, September 23, 2007.).)
Becky Alexander is a Cambridge writer. Her work has been published in five countries, and has won hundreds of awards. She runs Craigleigh Press with her husband Dave Allen.