Tricia Knoll

Dancing in Blue Supermoon Shine

You would have to be a bat, an owl, some nocturnal predator to see me. A barefoot old woman tentative in damp grass. I seek a sliver of that moonlight that slashes through limbs of hickory trees dressed for fall and throwing nuts. My purple nightgown is baggy enough to sweep along the hurts and hungers of a dream that woke me, bolted me out. Standing still in silver light, I lift my hands as if to hold an armload of calla lilies or pull a blue canoe from a lazy stream. My feet do not move. My torso barely bends, but my head knows I’m dancing, child-self in these woods. You couldn’t know this. I’m cautious stepping over broken sticks and scattered stones back to the open door. You might want to offer me a cane. A white one.

bobcat pounce
below a motion detector
night’s daylight

Tricia Knoll's work appears widely in journals as diverse as Kenyon Review and New Verse News. Her poems are collected in nine books, both full-length and chapbook. Knoll is a Contributing Editor to Verse Virtual. Website: triciaknoll.com