©2019 by Poetry Society of South Carolina. Proudly created with Wix.com

The Jeanne Crandall Broulik Memorial Prize

Libby Bernadin


On the Isle of Palms in the Month of No Moon

There’s never been a month without the moon,
at least not for me. I see no stars in the sky,
only blackness, though lights flicker on the horizon,
ships in the middle of the world keeping a steady course.
You can’t wonder with me as I long for this lunar crumb.
No matter how I want it, you can no longer talk
with me, eat the apple pie, drink the merlot you loved.

This morning an old seagull flew near,
landed in front of me a few paces and waited,
the way you did when I stooped to salvage
a scallop from a bed of tawny bits of shell.

In this stillness tonight, I am like a young
girl pleading under a February sky
until clouds clear: Give me a moon,
ladle my cup with layers of white beams
as though to crush this dreadful roar,
waiting for an eastward limb of lunar light.