Taking Out the Garbage

by Joyce M. Fischer

I pile the bags between sidewalk and curb Brush my hands on my shorts Stand under the moon. The warm, heavy night embraces Clouds trail like fingers across a pulsing sky. I could bear my breasts and rise to the moon Wide open begging to be filled Shattering into shards of light. I breathe in the night sky air instead, Turn and walk back inside, Close your window, smooth your quilt, Put your bear back into your arms, Listen once more for your steady breath.