The Moon on Friday Night by Susan Goyette

The Moon on Friday Night

                                        erased all paths to Saturday
and swept up footsteps from the day before. It coaxed buttons
to the lips of buttonholes and whispered, ‘ you’re beautiful,
so beautiful,’ to women who speak the vernacular

of loneliness. Softly it slid into the hands of the men
they were with and lent its light to everything they touched.
‘See,’ the moonlight seemed to say, ‘there are so many ways
to be naked and so many ways to be far

from home.’ The light reminded the women of songs
they knew, songs written to gauge distance. Later,
still later on this island of Friday night, they sang
those songs under their breath as they bent

to tie their shoes. And they stayed bent long after
their shoes were tied, hearing the wind for the first time
caught in a bucket of baby teeth. It was then they remembered
they were toothfairies, medicine men, and their children’s

mouths were empty. They knew of light switches, window
blinds, they knew to throw sand on fire, to blow
at a candle, but this light, this light they knew nothing
about so they carried it home with them. And now they wish

they hadn’t. It lights up corners they’d kept dark, lights
their words and gives them new meaning. At night,
they hold their husbands’ hands to their mouths.
‘Know this light,’ they pray, ‘touch me with this light.’

By Susan Goyette
From: “Open Field, 30 Contemporary Canadian Poets”, page 114
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"The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keeps out the joy."  ~Jim Rohn

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When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion.  ~Dale Carnegie

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