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M.G. Stephens


MOONHOLES AT MORNING LIGHT

by M.G. Stephens


The woman associated with the

Moon is the purpose for whom this knowledge

Is relevant, to whom this note I write

Is written, about whom more anon: she

Swims naked in a lake in the moonlight.


She sings naked in the night below the

Moon, a kind of mermaid, a kind, gentle

Person, swimming across the lake at the

Speed of handwriting across a page; it’s

For her lover. To her lover she sings.


Her lover is no man or woman, but

The moon itself for whom she swims naked

Across midnight’s lake, a stroke here, a breath

There, almost as though she were dancing, not

Swimming alone amid moonlight out there.









SITTING ACROSS FROM THE MUSE I THOUGHT OF A JAY THAT FLEW INTO MY ROOM ONE DAY RECENTLY IN THE EARLY PART OF AUTUMN

by M.G. Stephens


The jay sat on the door handle inside

The room, cackling softly as it took

In this surprising human nest,

Its body a tawny color with bright


Colorful wing feathers. The supermoon

Had not yet risen up into the sky,

And my heart was like a stone as I held

My breath and did not move, trying to see


Your lips which was what I was thinking of

When the jay first appeared by the brown door

That led onto a quite small balcony.


I had imagined trying to draw you

When suddenly the jay landed on the

Handle, and it was as if time stood still.









IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LIFE

by M.G. Stephens


The Muse and I dine al fresco, Perrin’s

Walk, Hampstead, and I feed her carrot cake,

Pots of Earl Grey (milk on the side), humus


And pita bread, and we talk and laugh and

Wile away the afternoon and our lives,

As if we didn’t have a care in the world,


Which in a sense is true, as it is in

The middle of the week, in the middle

Of the day at a still point in our lives,


So we are sat there eating and talking,

Drinking buckets of tea, the Muse herself

Beautiful and unobtainable, blue


Footed and sure of herself, cool and, like

Maud Gonne, she is there and not there and gone.




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