ENOUGH

Enough of moon

crescent, full, ebbing, blue.

And lavender bending toward light.

And wood floors creaking, and old doors and

new doors, all that opening and closing.

Let’s not talk of mothers

and daughters and complicated love.

Enough of cancer and heart attack and heartbreak.

Everyone is dying. Too quick or slow.

I am trying to live against these odds.

Enough of the stumbles, the splinters, the gravel roads.

No more sad eyes and sorrows. No more longing.

For years I’ve written the same poem.

Please pass the answers to the test

I keep taking and failing and taking again.

Wait. Stop.

Tell me about the mechanics of love,

the steps required to build a good view.

Explain electricity as I stand alone in a storm

waiting for lightning to strike.

Listen, you whisper,

and point to the sky.

The owl mates for life.

Tell me again about the ancient bird calling into the dark.

The world is cruel and there is not enough love.

But there is a moon, I’m sure, in a dusky sky

and a slight breeze to soften my ragged edge.

Tell me everything. I want to hear it all.

— Drew Myron

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