top of page


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 

bottom of page