FULL OF IT
The moon swallowed the sun in one mouthful;
kept her maw open wide—spit him out full.
On the days she feared he’d devour her,
she fed him sweet treats to keep his snout full.
On empty, they crossed over the border
to the States promising to be fruitful.
No one using a wheelchair came inside—
accessible parking always doubtful.
Motel owners didn’t announce their hatred;
Just let their no vacancy lights shout full.
Caretakers wondered how many more wars
till graveyards complained they were about full.
He asked to be buried with his husband;
his parents suddenly turned devoutful.
Most children rarely notice what parents
give up to make their kids’ lives bountiful.
The police shuddered when the school shooter
headed to classrooms they just counted full.
How do you comfort parents of a child
who didn’t have a chance to make them proudful?
One day a year, we give thanks for our gifts—
stuffing ourselves to prove we are grateful.
I’d write more couplets about falling short,
but the sun’s grumbling this day’s chockful.
—from Rattle #84, Summer 2024
Tribute to the Ghazal
__________
Mary Keating: “I love how ghazals make the poet omniscient. I can view a subject from all points of view, all disconnected, but somehow connected. This is how I imagine God views the universe and all the lives passing through time. To me the ghazal is a microcosm of the vast machinations of temporal existence. Magically, we gain a better understanding of life when we read or write a ghazal.” (web)
