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Four Moons, and: The Potato Eaters

Four Moons, and: The Potato Eaters 54 into the far-off zenith uncontested scat loading down your money bags left at some hotel you've never checked into your father's famous fudge packed in Christmas tins demanding nothing less than freedom from the tyranny of his unsung chords Celia Stuart-Powles Four Moons And what a rare gift it was, this morning's Dream ­ there I stood: on the shore's edge As a mist began to fall, and a child came running Pointing to the sky, and there they were ­ 55 And did I say four? I should have said eight: For behind each luminous orb was a paler Version shadowing it with light ­ as if Orpheus was leading Eurydice back, And did I say eight? Well, I should have said, Sixteen, for the heavenly moons reflected Like a resurrection from deep ­ surfacing In a mirror of melt: waveless As mercury, an endless, shallow slate Waiting for me to wade ­ and I, I was ready ­ eager to bathe in that glow, Ready to return, eyes focused ­ till he turned. The Potato Eaters Her back is to us, but her head tilts toward the plate filled with creamy light, and jacketed potatoes: http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

Four Moons, and: The Potato Eaters

Prairie Schooner , Volume 79 (4) – May 18, 2005

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2005 by the University of Nebraska Press.
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
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Abstract

54 into the far-off zenith uncontested scat loading down your money bags left at some hotel you've never checked into your father's famous fudge packed in Christmas tins demanding nothing less than freedom from the tyranny of his unsung chords Celia Stuart-Powles Four Moons And what a rare gift it was, this morning's Dream ­ there I stood: on the shore's edge As a mist began to fall, and a child came running Pointing to the sky, and there they were ­ 55 And did I say four? I should have said eight: For behind each luminous orb was a paler Version shadowing it with light ­ as if Orpheus was leading Eurydice back, And did I say eight? Well, I should have said, Sixteen, for the heavenly moons reflected Like a resurrection from deep ­ surfacing In a mirror of melt: waveless As mercury, an endless, shallow slate Waiting for me to wade ­ and I, I was ready ­ eager to bathe in that glow, Ready to return, eyes focused ­ till he turned. The Potato Eaters Her back is to us, but her head tilts toward the plate filled with creamy light, and jacketed potatoes:

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: May 18, 2005

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