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April 2, 2023 by The Citron Review

by Catherine Hamrick


He painted promises,
the ever turn of earth
shimmering on an oak panel:
emerald and terracotta
floating on marine blue swathed
in swirls, with night edging
out day and cities winking
like electric constellations.

He wrote love songs
to the shape-shifter moon:
a disk in shadow,
an ashen diadem,
an ochre quarter,
a creamy globe,
a low-hung lamp
over ripe fields.

He handed me both worlds,
like borosilicate marbles,
but I lost them to what is:
with no breeze, no rain
to salve meteor pocks,
the moon hangs,
a frigid nightlight
pulling at earth;
waters bulge and crash,
while earth fixates
on arid basins,
raising crusty tides.


Catherine Hamrick is a copywriter and editor in the greater Atlanta area. Her poetry has appeared in Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, storySouth, The Blue Mountain Review, Willows Wept Review, and elsewhere. She placed as a runner-up for the Natasha Trethewey Poetry Prize in 2020 and 2022. Find her online at Random Storyteller.



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