The Moon and My Heart

Stone Soup Magazine
October 2018

By Rebecca Beaver

The moon ate my heart. My vision was tainted. I staggered forward, uncertain. I heard something disappear. I think— I am myself. I taste the hole in my...

The moon The little moon The lonely uncolorful moon The only friend of earth The moon of its only kind There the moon stand by her only little self The...

The last look Of the scraggly trees Scraping their black fingernails Across the wistful shingles Of the buildings The last breath of moonlight, Whispering on...

The sound so beautiful Yet cold inside Cleela, Cleela, The crickets chirp. Ooo 0000 whoo whoo The owls’ almost Silent Yet shuddering sound. The cast of...

Your mother is calling you. It is time to go to bed. The night is calling out its cry of dark. “Come, come,” she calls to you. Again you do not answer. The clock...

The moon A candle in the darkness The sun of the night. For the passing traveler it is a guide For the sleeper a comforting watcher The guardian of the...

When my spirit is low You’ll catch it And carry it on your back. You’ll fly through the gardens And into town. You’ll fly past the bright streetlights With my...

At 3:30 A.M. I gradually rise from my ocean of sleep Away from the trenches of unconsciousness Where lantern-fish dreams lurk. Tick, tick, tick The dutiful...

When the sky was full of diamonds, We went dancing on the cobblestone streets. The world was filled with laughter and music and whispering couples. The spicy...

Because I climb a ladder to sleep, sometimes I feel it takes too long. On the bottom rung, I see the house, shadowed and cozy, dark and peaceful, already in...