Once the day was divided in brothers.
Twice we sat on an ancient cannon
riding our own horse, the moon
a pock-marked stone staring at us.
We were learning about planets at school,
Pluto the farthest and taken from us later.
At the neighbor’s house, a dusky blue telescope
sat propped near the window in the room
with books and a safe and labeled stones
glued to paper: sulfer, amethyst, catseye, quartz.
We weren’t allowed to touch it, but we knew
it knew, had seen the flames of the sun up close.
Bronwen Butter Newcott was born and raised in Washington DC, where she currently lives. She earned an MFA from the University of Maryland, spent a decade in southern California teaching and writing, and is glad to be back east where she leads a weekly writing group at Miriam's Kitchen and is raising three children with her husband.
Her poems have appeared in Image
, Indiana Review
, Prairie Schooner
, Missouri Review
, Smartish Pace
, and other publications.
more by Bronwen Butter Newcott: