Poetry: Phases

Phases

by Ona Gritz

When you were five, I told you, the moon’s
a bucket filled with daylight. It’s a cup,
you gave back. There’s milk inside.
Another time, I called it a fingernail clipping.
You, all earnestness, looked up at me.
It is, you insisted. God’s fingernail.

Tonight, I want to tell you it’s the mirrored
platter from my childhood. As usual, you
are walking ahead, music from your earphones
so loud I hear percussion like pounding surf.
It’s a phase, my mother would say,
if it was her bright eye watching us.

Some evenings you’re still full to bursting
with stories, pacing as you talk, no pauses
between thoughts. Often, though, I’m faced
with your new sullenness. I prompt
with questions; but night’s a heavy curtain
and you stay behind it, trying solitude on for size.

Ona Gritz’s poetry has been published in numerous online and print literary journals. In 2007, she won the Inglis House poetry contest, the Late Blooms Poetry Postcard competition, and was nominated for two Pushcart prizes. Her chapbook of poems, Left Standing, was released by Finishing Line Press in 2005. She is also a Literary Mama columnist.




Read the Introduction Recent Poetry Skating with Tropes Learning to Paint at Age 45 Phases Tangled The Trajectory of Her Legs The Sonogram Technician The Bath Quickening A Birthday in the Making Guitar Lessons Archives Poetry Archives E-zine Don't have time to check for updates? Let us come to you! Click here to subscribe or unsubscribe to the Literary Mama E-zine. Literary Mama About Us Submissions Contact Privacy Policy Literary Mama Bookshop Literary Mama Gear Powered by Movable Type 3.16	Poetry « Tangled \| Back to Poetry \| Learning to Paint at Age 45 » Phases by Ona Gritz When you were five, I told you, the moon’s a bucket filled with daylight. It’s a cup, you gave back. There’s milk inside. Another time, I called it a fingernail clipping. You, all earnestness, looked up at me. It is, you insisted. God’s fingernail. Tonight, I want to tell you it’s the mirrored platter from my childhood. As usual, you are walking ahead, music from your earphones so loud I hear percussion like pounding surf. It’s a phase, my mother would say, if it was her bright eye watching us. Some evenings you’re still full to bursting with stories, pacing as you talk, no pauses between thoughts. Often, though, I’m faced with your new sullenness. I prompt with questions; but night’s a heavy curtain and you stay behind it, trying solitude on for size. Ona Gritz’s poetry has been published in numerous online and print literary journals. In 2007, she won the Inglis House poetry contest, the Late Blooms Poetry Postcard competition, and was nominated for two Pushcart prizes. Her chapbook of poems, Left Standing, was released by Finishing Line Press in 2005. She is also a Literary Mama columnist.