[No strawberry moon] by Emmy Pérez
No strawberry moon for me, tonight. No strawberry moon. This small house creeks when I walk and open it. I have to weigh it, to goddess or not tonight. Goddess or godless. God is in my sleeping children’s presence tonight. I use words like god when I haven’t seen the strawberry moon, less when I haven’t been so generous. It’s not about gender—ess or less—but heft of the weight. Inside me like a baby. When people procreate. Romance a dashing thing. The harvest upon us. Will we feast or collapse in exhaustion tonight which is every?
Jacqueline du Pre & Daniel Barenboim – Rachmaninov: The Isle of the Dead, Symphonic poem Op. 29 – Andrew Davis