A teaspoon of stars falls far from grace”— Cathy Young
An accident of words
Spilling over my lips
: “A spoonful of moon”
When attempting to say the moon can’t be
Spooned, after daughter said,
“The spoon dipped into the moon,” instead
Of “The spoon jumped over the moon,”
When she just finished an ice cream dipped, singing
: Hey Diddle Diddle with a hesitation : “I want
Another cone dipped.” I went to correct her on the line
: “The cow jumped over the moon;"
And instead I said, “A spoonful of moon.”
Or was it that we talked about
Spooning over a love, and the moon didn’t
Romance, when my daughter asked
About spooning the moon?
The subject that night
Was the moon, all the way home
From a girls’ night out. There was that discussion
Of the big dipper that fell
Somewhere between the dipped
Cone and the spooned lover, of which
In the sky, the dipper appeared
To be dumping the moon.
First and foremost, I’m a woman. I was a wife, and will be again in time (hoping by the end of this year—marrying my best friend). I have three living children out of five—Dunstan was lost three months before birth, Vincent recently passed after 2 ½ years battling the rare cancer PNET. He was 24. I have a BGS and an MA. The credentials did not make me a writer. I’ve been writing since I could take pen or pencil to a paper, even if the lines weren’t letters at the time. Gran’ma Ginny (an oral storyteller, keeping up with her Indian heritage) and I shared stories all the time. She was my inspiration. Today, I try to put her stories onto the paper. It is a difficult task.
I’ve had work appear online in Diagram and EWR, and in printed form in Confluence. A piece of my work has been performed by the Dance Collective of Fort Wayne, Indiana. I have done several readings on the campus of Indiana University Purdue University Fort Wayne and at the Three Rivers Coop of Fort Wayne in a series called First Fridays.