Aimee Nezhukumatathil is author of three award-winning books of poetry, Lucky Fish, At the Drive-In Volcano, and Miracle Fruit. Here, she offers one of her poems from Lucky Fish.
She's been warned not to sleep with moonlight
on her face or she will be taken from her house.
She wears eel-skin to protect herself. She tilts
her face to the night sky when no one is looking.
During the eclipse, eels bubble in their dark
and secret caves. Toads frenzy in pastures
just outside of town, surrounding the dumb cows
in a wet mess of croak and sizzle. Years later,
she would touch the hand of a green-eyed man
by the weird light. Because of him, she plants
a moon garden: freesia, snowdrops, fotherfilla,
bugbane. She is a runner-bean, stretching best
and brilliant in this light. Their child is moon-faced.
She is crazy about them. She is lunatic. She
is taken. She is a hymn book flipped open.
From Lucky Fish by Aimee Nezhukumatathil (Tupelo Press, 2011).