When I was a mere muscari you said I looked like a montbretia in father’s chrysanthemum ascot. I wore that ascot seven ways to Sunday—six stamens and a pistol—but that was way before I even knew what it meant to shoot my shot—I didn’t even know the difference between one lump or two. Oh—but I learned. I learned til I turned. I spurned til I ferned. I yearned til I burned. I earned til I urned. Only then, did I nocturne the sauterne but—really—that isn’t your concern. What is your concern is this punch list (which is really another Periodic Table™ and also a list of teas—herbal and otherwise). Now, nymphs, get your pens, the ones with the magenta ink and your starched, viridian tablecloths and your ultramarine sighs. You’ve taken your lessons in rongorongo and hototogisu and abracadabra—now show us what you can really do in just three quarks!
not the moon but also not not the moon
-- Joshua St. Claire is an accountant from a small town in Pennsylvania. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Notre Dame Review, Blithe Spirit, Presence, Two Thirds North, and Blue Unicorn, among others. His haiku has been in several annual anthologies. He is the winner of Rattle: Poets Respond, the Gerald Brady Memorial Senryu Award and the Trailblazer Award.