whatever slid into my mother's room that
late june night, tapping her great belly,
summoned me out roundheaded and unsmiling.
is this the moon, my father used to grin.
cradling me? it was the moon
but nobody knew it then.
the moon understands dark places.
the moon has secrets of her own.
she holds what light she can.
we girls were ten years old and giggling
in our hand-me-downs. we wanted breasts,
pretended that we had them, tissued
our undershirts. jay johnson is teaching
me to french kiss, ella bragged, who
is teaching you? how do you say; my father?
the moon is queen of everything.
she rules the oceans, rivers, rain.
when I am asked whose tears these are
I always blame the moon.
Lucille Clifton's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (moonchild by Lucille Clifton )
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- and back to the middle of the road lies .., RIC S. BASTASA
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- to be empty all over again and move like.., RIC S. BASTASA
- and once again you decide to live., RIC S. BASTASA
- 'tonight at ten'., RIC S. BASTASA
- you must be lucky to have found it, RIC S. BASTASA
- love became l o v e became LOVE and now .., Mandolyn ...
- that self-confidence, RIC S. BASTASA