by Reena Ribalow
My plants are moonstruck.
Moon dusts their uplifted palms.
Onto the terrace sifts the pallid light:
on rooftops, on the puppet cars,
a winter-colored, phosphorescent breath.
My womb is moon-seared
and its moonscapes, flat as death.
In lunar rays the mind is bent
to mutant shapes.
Only missiles will flower overhead,
their moment’s purgatory paling to
a fatal radiance of white.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
I am a poet and writer living in Jerusalem. I have won first prize in the Moment Magazine Short Story Competition and in the Margaret Reid Poetry Prize. I was a finalist in both the short story and poetry competitions of Cutthroat magazine and had a story published there. I also won the Golden Prize and notable mention in the Stand Magazine Short Story Prize.I have been published in New York Quarterly, The Literary Review, Ariel, The Jerusalem Review, Shirim, The Jerusalem Post, Voices Israel, Israel Short Stories, Moment magazine and Cutthroat, among others.
Last updated May 29, 2011