Famous Reporter # 13: June, 1996

 

 

        Jill Jones

 

      THE ECLIPSE

 

          Each night she stands there,

          a quiet, blank window.

          Sometimes she sees the stars,

          sorting through them

          to the Dipper and the Cross,

          sometimes she’s watching us

          at our yellow curtain.

          The hush of her breath

          blows over your skin

          as we lie afterwards,

          our lips still fresh

          but limp in rest,

          her breath like the hands

          that unravelled waves

          in her body and hair.

          Her breath reminds her

          of curtains and the last time -

          the moon dark red in eclipse.