Content Warning: blood, fertility
Anne Rouse - Moonrise 2021
Moonrise is unfamiliar,
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arc of fire in a wash of blue,
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plucked from night’s sleeve,
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blotched disc of sun-glow.
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Waddya want, a medal?
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My late, wisecracking pre-war father.
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Whatever’s hanging there,
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brass or gilt, yes I do.
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Freckled looking-glass, reflective
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of our pocked aureole,
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a stain has spread in its hollows.
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Someone at prayer. A curving embryo.
Anne Rouse lives in East Sussex. Ox-Eye, poems on personal and social change, will be published by Bloodaxe in the spring of 2022. She can be found on Twitter @rouseanne.
Photograph: A Plane to the Moon by James Harris
James Harris isn't a photographer; he's a walker who takes photos, usually at stupid o’clock in the morning. Instead of travelling afar, he walks the streets, pathways, parks and beaches of his native Kent, UK, to capture the beauty that sometimes lies just outside the vision of those who don’t have a camera ready in their hands. When he’s not walking, he’s waging battles against computers which he will never win, but at least he gets paid for it.