That’s When I Gave Her My Copy of The Moon

After the hibiscus shriveled in the sun,
after the gerbils were silent in their cage,

after August lay stunned on the page.
After the postman tripped on the rock,

after the light went out in the kitchen,
after she sat on the porch in the dark.

After the church burned down in the night
after the flight was inscribed and filed.

Before he changed his shoes,
before he believed the lies.

Before he hung up the phone,
before he died on the stairs, alone.

*

Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in North American Review, Nimrod, Rattle, Slant, Atlanta Review, Tar River Poetry and many other journals and anthologies. Her published books are Fugitive Pigments, What’s Left Over, Embers on the Stairs, Selected Poems, and Flour, Water, Salt. She likes the light on November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky, the smell of the ocean. She hates pretense, prejudice, and sauerkraut.