The full moon woke me this morning,

spilling light through the window

and splashing it across my face like

cool water from a silver pail.


I tried to keep my eyes closed against it

gripping my slumber by the tail

but the moon still beckoned me to join it.

I turned my back to the light

burrowed my face into the den

of my blankets and pillows

and tried to find my way back into the night,

as if it were a path leading into deep woods

that suddenly opens into a clearing

where a girl like me can dance.


But there is something about waking

that makes it hard to go back to sleep, makes it

harder to believe the not-mine futures I lust after

are anything more than a dream.


The full moon woke me this morning

and though I hesitated to turn on my lamp

and shatter night's illusion so violently,

even though I sought solace under these covers

a little longer, still

I reached for my paper and pen

and began to write something

eyes-open true

in the wet white light.