Boy in the Tale of the Humpbacked Moon

I will go now, waxing gibbous moon
rising between noon and sunset. Half lighted
purple irises in marsh bogs
setting after midnight
hanging like a lodestar high in the
south early in the evening
I will go now, go see you shine again
on my night walks
discarded possessions
sitting together in a stone bunker
circular and flattened
flawed two-page sketches

when you lose everything, three days ago
boxes in the asphalt driveway
scars, photographs, and family

283rd day in the Gregorian calendar.
On a cold Monday in October
I will go now. Not yet thirteen
juxtaposing the mundane:
streets I walked as a boy
three older sisters
7751 Avenue du Curé-Clermont
pine wood side door
the walled garden unforgiving
of knots and ropes
folk music, father’s fists

drawn to the many diaries.
Somehow we smuggled out
the common secret of violence
distorting that unreality

grey the colour of hope.
I will go now, go.

Ilona Martonfi