Soraya Shalforoosh
Molly, the moon people have had it

Molly she doesn’t want to talk about the moon
But, I do, Moon People, a poem for you:

Window Window Open
Let her in, long sounds of street at night!
Black then your crescent, milk in my tea.

Serenade, serenade to Jesus yet again?
Some sing to Jesus at night

Pulling strange socks from under the bed—

After our second date, we left Lincoln Center it was December—
There, you peered out and said, look at that moon!

For over eight years this storytelling goes

Scream slams wishes of grandeur—
Musicals pulsating lights, big healthy appetites
One big universe, that comes gently and sucking.

OH!  Sing, sing!  They told me too,
And I believed them, Molly here I go!
Oh Sing, Sing,  fa la la la

                        Dreams sputter like snowflakes for the moon people.  The trippy kids
And one day, we will hark.  Hark who goes there?
Hark—a strange milk light!  He tucks us in pretty and dreamy,

Pulling strange socks from under the bed.

I don’t remember whom I serenade at night
Sing to shadows, sing out loud to Josiah!

Molly the moon people have rounded, now
A Giant Glow comes a gleaming at night.

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