Map, Lewiston, Idaho, June, 1933
Here there are friends
here the locks are easily opened
here nobody lives
here there is lots of money, but carefully hidden
here lives a woman alone
here people regard gypsies as thieves
here live greedy people, but easy to steal from
here lives a man with a bad temper
here live scared people
but here lives a kind woman
here there is nothing of any interest
here there is nothing to be afraid of, go on begging
here they demand that you work hard
here are watchful neighbors
here lives only a mistress with maids
here are dogs in the yard, watch out!
here people tell you to go to hell
here they’ll rough you up
here they take revenge
here they’ll take care of you if you are ill
here they give no money but one may get food
here they give you food if you work
here they give only if you are ill
here they give nothing
and here you can get whatever you want.
* * * * *
Please Bring a Moon
Kate loves the moon. When I carry her, she leans her head back and tilts up her chin
to watch. I see its reflection in her perfect new eyes. She holds her hand up, in greeting.
This reminds me how the moon’s its own cocoon, how hard it is to explain, how the world
would manage perfectly fine without it and its changes, its hiding in clouds, its two-week
disappearances, awfully long when you’re a year old. I used to count each new crescent
as a step closer to her birth. I used to know where End of the Moon Lane is. I once saw
two owls flying across the field on the full moon, and a few minutes later, a feather
floating down from the sky. I caught it. I will tell her, but would she tell her child?
What would a baby moon be called, moonlet, moonling, and how would it hatch?
Will she watch it from the back seat, a constant with trees passing through like thread?