Beatific, shock-white frost
jagged around the edge of the leaf. Moon,
your daughter is the tip of my tongue.
But in the moonlight
she has not been heard.
The mother & the child, their messenger, starlight & its interruptions.
The old men have been fathers
but for the briefest moment,
egging out the backdoor
like mother moonlight herself.
The character of ‘girls’ deepens, remembers
its brothers’ voices
walking along the split rail fence. The character of ‘girls’
is called braids,
& these men called beard.
The daughters pass with a wisdom
that is too dark for their ages,
cry that cannot be called out.
And what is left out, that watcher is love.
In the beginning
with the dignity
of a violence done unto.
Todd Fredson
Todd Fredson’s poetry and non-fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry International, Blackbird, Court Green, 42 Opus, American Poetry Review, Puerto del Sol, Gulf Coast, RUNES, Slush Pile and other journals. He is the Director of Programming at the McReavy House Museum of Hood Canal. He lives in the Skokomish Valley, with his wife, Sarah Vap, and their sons.
View all articles by Todd Fredson
Comments 