Sadie Shorr-Parks: Lunacy

There are pen marks across the sky,
black, from a laundry accident.

I’m in my backyard hanging clothes on a line.
No, I’m online, imagining hanging laundry.

I can see a lilac dusk and a red rug.
I can imagine my backyard full of baklava trees.

I can predict a grey night sky,
light pollution pooling around the stadium,
the moon out of frame.

Last night, I saw the true moon
suspended in my bedroom mirror,
so I gasped, and I asked:
Why I am getting so lucky?

And I wished:
Stay with me
through this jag
or till I’m done watching.

And I chanted:
Come up my porch steps.
Come up my porch steps.
Walk through my screen door.
I can be withholding, too.