Sarah Busse

Mama Luna

Her human face turns its full moon
from the camera, a quick, thoughtless gesture.

Not me, not me. I have eclipsed myself.
Outside the frame, outside

the frozen circle of the flash, she waxes
into invisible, glad to be cut off. 

Free now to move in time as it occurs to her,
she's moving through her own reckoning 

of days. The calendar is flawed, the clock blank.