ANTIQUE MOON
by Aaron Fagan
I dragged a garbage bag
Far into the park at night,
A shovel over my shoulder.
Streetlamps dotted the way.
Every so often I’d stop, look
Up and listen to how quiet
A city can be before I found
My place where I could begin
To dig in the earth, far beyond
The threshold of my capacity
For fear or rage, driving me
Down past all sense where
Something else of my perfect
Youth I never knew began to
Course through me as I lifted
The shovel again, momentarily
Allowed to be confused by
The swirls escaping me out
Into the spring evening air.
As I go digging deeper into
The hole and back through life,
Sparse drops of rain came down
And then harder, breaking off
An uneven shelf of earth
Knocking me out at the bottom
Of the hole, the earth came down
With the rain and filled me in—
Letting the bag rest there
Glistening in the moonlight
Between forms of misunderstanding.
Arthur Magazine 