Lisa Ciccarello
January 2015



 

The name of the bride is the name of the moon


The moon was a medal in the sky was the bridal veil was the cup of the wedding
I had a blue eyed bride I had a homestead of dust I left the door open I needed protection

Your name was a key & it made you my bride your name was a kingdom & I lay down my life
I cut my hand on the metal I cut my hand on the name of you I cut my hand on the open door

When I said your name you were older when I said your name you were older again
I left the light burning I burnt down the house I left the door open everything we owned was gone

The string was a path to the home where I left the bride the medal was the open door
I woke up I was under the stone I was digging for the medal

The map was a string & a pin the moon was a pin & the name of my home
I held the pin I had plans I had nothing to offer

The pin was metal & the string was metal the cup was metal & held the sea
I wanted the moon back I left the light burning I wanted to go home again I got the name wrong

The house burnt down I had nothing but dust the house burnt down the moon shone
I said the name to take me home but nothing happened the moon shone & I said the name of it



 

Previously published as a broadside for Parallax