Harvest Moon on Stipp Street—Halloween Night
by Joan Leotta
At the end of my street,
rising round and full,
the moon arrives in grand form,
red orange instead of silver,
spanning house to house,
taller than the spindly pines
that quake in amazement at its size.
I want to touch it.
Slowly I step out onto the sidewalk
Toward the giant moon
My neighbor's houses are quiet
I am alone in the street but.
my silent steps are not quiet enough.
Moon, quick and clever,
like a frighted bird
hears my steps and flies backward as I approach.
Rising higher and growing small, into the sky
As I step forward,
at last it perches high
above the street
no longer blocking the street,
no longer touching the trees
high out of reach.
Still glowing bright, silver again, and high
Moon lights the way
for laughing children who now tumble out of
doorways to walk house to house in search of treats.
Moon winks at me.
I wink back.
I retreat indoors to give out Milky Ways
to all comers.
*Second Prize, Dancing Poetry Contest, 2012