Claire Becker

I Feel Like Seeing the Moon

Back to bed,
tell others,
can’t find it.

My eye breaks free
and stares straight up
for nothing.

That the ceiling were nothing.
My eye can’t
stand on it.

I feel like seeing
the moon, like seeing
the fingernail-of-a moon.

Chewed off, left
for the man to clean,
went the smallest

part of me
to the heavens
with the gold leaf.

It’s over
murals on buildings,
stomachs on bicycles,

their tacos and ice.
I’ve got it
in fingertips

that walk a triangle
from eye to here
to brain,

in my warmed-over
mental state, in same.

Claire Becker lives in San Francisco and teaches visually impaired high school students in Oakland. She is the author of the full-length book Where We Think It Should Go from Octopus Books and several chapbooks. This is the first poem she has finished in a year.

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