Dale Champlin, Young Woman Silhouette 2, Collage, 2021
Clair de Lune
“the still moonlight, sad and lovely” Paul Verlaine
A heavy eye-lidded morning,
god pushing down his thumbs again,
keeping the light out
but for the penumbra
surrounding the dull orb.
And if there is no god,
a weather system?
Last night, sad
because your son was sad
sitting alone
closer to the cold moon
in his attic bedroom,
you Googled, an act
of self preservation,
songs like / or as good as /
Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”
There was a full moon.
You sat downstairs
on the couch,
a moderately light stone
delicately anchored
and hurting.
So much pain amongst the stones.
And Beethoven. Gone. Debussy.
Schumann. Liszt. Bach—
/baχ/
Also, Glenn Gould would come.
And go.
Only notes
and his father’s chair
linger.
And this today: your daughter,
your happier child,
went out into the cold.
Before, looked for
but didn’t find
her white earmuffs
that now rest
on your mother’s old mahogany table
that survives
here with you
beneath the frosted window,
two snowball-like things
on a wiry branch
that do not melt.
__________________
Erin Wilson