as I go past the half-built homes
back to my kitchen
at the end of my day
the moon’s on her setting arc
finding a path down the sky
her face is jaundiced
by smog and the dust
of all these construction sites
building and building trying
to stave off some dragon
or other
some tide of people or water
they’re generating
so much that my nose blocks trying
to keep it out and my eyes flood trying
to wash it away and when I look at the moon
she’s only halfway down
her setting arc but already
she’s orange and dull
for a moment I think
her face is a lovely
fireside colour
but then I remember
she’s the moon!
the silvery moon!
the pale goddess moon!
and right now
she’s not
a goddess
she’s a woman
looking down at her feet
as she goes out of sight
at the end of her day
her face all oranged
with the dust of men
Winner of the 2014 Ethel Webb Bundell Literary Awards presented by the Society of Women Writers WA
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