TEA PARTY (FULL MOON)

By Douglas Graham Wilson

I am soliciting compliments from the bone china scattered around me in the moonlight a fragile and brittle nocturnal waif influenced by the silver glow

of a full moon. abandoned at a dinner table al fresco I am left with prayers and questions which whisper out of my cracked throat, staining the air with barely audible sobs that are cruelly scorned by the sugar cubes

so arrogantly cheerful and sparkling

in the night light. and now I am chasing shadows through dark hedges they shapeshift and vanish from between my clutching fingers like the fluttering ghosts of bats

or discarded memories. this cloak of trancelike illumination is an opiate to my soul causing hallucinations I desire to stir away, like sugar dissolving in hot tea but I have lost my silver teaspoon and I cannot find it in the long grass beneath me.


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