When the moon ate the dark,
I went hungry. Hungry –
not for stars as dry old rice
on a pan, on a counter, in a bowl,
but for a blackstrap night –
thick, sweet and bitter run
on my tongue – on a pancake plain,
forked through and wedged out
In sections, forty odd
and herded for harvest.

All art is a conjuring – a twisting of metals, mist and things uncertain. From the seen and tasted comes a thought run down through nerve and blood to the hands. And what is displayed, dispersed, perhaps as inconsequential as a single fallen leaf, a split cicada husk or a thin layer of sloughed off skin on a tabletop may land upon an eye and find communion. Through my many and somewhat failed striving, it has come down to this: “Make one person laugh, make one person cry.” In that, the work is done.

you can read more of Devon’s writing at Sweet and Bitter Greens

One Comment Add yours

  1. Devon Brock says:

    Thank you Christine for sharing my poem on Heretics Lovers and Madmen. Truly an honor.


    Liked by 1 person

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