Tag: Female Poet

Poem: Moonlight We

The sun grows hours

Then burns them dry

Like

Tumbleweeds

Blow by the days

And we

The cattle drivers

Saddle the minutes

And ride them,

Guide them from atop

Their prickly backs.


The Sunlight We

Strap on our shoes

Tattered at the soles

To tread

A line

Publicly defined by

The rules of

Marketplace

And who the other

We’s expect us all

To be.


Astride atop

Rolling ticks and tocks

And traveling

Through noon time

Crowds of We

Is She—

An explorer whose eyes

Are lifted

Toward the sky

Inside a sea of eyes

Seeing same.


The busy pavement

Vibrates with progress

As defined

By hand held devices

That shine

In daytime rays

And ricochet

Blinding

The gaze

Of the masked We

Stumbling at a gallop’s pace.


But she—

She sees.


She sees what is real

In the moment defined

Not confined by

What she should

Why she ought or

Questioning

Why she would

She rides the time

And feels the warmth

Of the sun instead of

Using it for light.


Reflection of the sun can be seen everywhere.

Embracing now

A give and take

Of new and ideas

And what does it mean

She offers herself

To the questions

That rise

Dwells in the

Wonder

Of wandering

Free.


And he—

He sees.


Along the trail

Sprawling on every side

Is one—

A He—

Who rides his own

Tumbleweed time

Carrying boredom

Wrapped in

Discontent

Searching for what

Is relevant.


His eyes wide open

Heart behind a shield

He journeys

With a purpose

Gone cold

Like a campfire

Dwindling—

He rubs his hands together

Above reasons

That fail

To keep him warm.


Until the moment

Just one moment

He

Amidst a thousand eyes

Sees

She

The only she

In a sea of

We

Whose awareness

Pierces the shield of his own.

No words exchanged—

Not yet—

But the moment is frozen still

The sun holds its place

And reveals

Details of her face

As though

The opulent

Fiery star above

Is painting

Something new.


“Hello,”

Says she and

“Hello,”

Says he and the sea of

We begins to roar

Once again.

He asks,

“Can you travel

This way?

If only

Today?”


He smiles—

Not only his lips

But eyes brightly

Joining as

His hands begin to warm.

She accepts

His invitation,

“I will come

Your way

Let’s not delay

The sun will set into night.”


Two journeys become

One moonlight We

As the day stumbles

Behind the moon—

The moon that stops

The growth of time

Replacing stars

For minutes

And silence for sound

When all around

Disappears

Into a single

You.

© Jill Szoo Wilson, 2023

Read more by Jill Szoo Wilson on Substack.

Poem: The Reaching

If ever a UFO landed on your head—

“She thinks that's a weird question.

No UFO has!”

I wasn’t talking to you.

But to you . . .


Pretend one has.


What do you think it would feel like?

Imagine it.

Go on.

I will wait.


[A sparrow flies by]


I am not asking how heavy it is or

Cold or

Bumpy or

Smooth:

You could not really know such things

At all.

I am asking what you would feel like inside—

“She would feel like an idiot!”


But if it was really there . . . on your head—

“On her head? What is this ridiculous riddle?”


Okay not on your head, but over . . .


If you ran out of your home

With no where to go

Your hair was torn and

Bruises and

The smell of whiskey

And cigars

On your face—


If your shoes were untied

And you saw your mother cry

And you didn’t want to stay

One more second

In that place.


If the air was so cold

You could see your breath

Shooting into the night

Like a jet engine beginning a race

So you slowed your pace

And panted and heaved

And your knees buckle under you

With disgrace.


Let us pretend the aloneness

You feel—

“It’s just a feeling, she's not alone!”


But still . . .


Your aloneness is real

With no one to call

And if you turned back now

You would be thrown against a wall.

So despite your

Aloneness

You crawl

To safety and the blackest woods

You embrace.


If in that space

You held on tight to a

Branch you could reach

Or the neck of a deer

Or the paw of a bear

Until

At last

You saw glowing near

A rounded

Machine with light bulbs you could see

And a sound you could hear

Like a robot giving chase.


What would you think—

“She would think she was nuts!”


Okay, maybe. But . . .


Would you believe your eyes

Or think your sanity was disguised

In the brain of a woman

Otherwise apt?

If you could touch and

Feel

Would you believe it was real?

And what about smell?

If you could smell the exhaust

Coming from the pipe

And taste the metal on the

Wind of the night

And hear a voice shrieking,

“We come from someplace” . . .


If it landed and

A hand

Came out from within

Would you look at your fingers

And kiss them goodbye

In case after touching they never returned

But still reach them out

And touch the warmth

Of an unknown hand

Unrecognizable

And trust

Even before you could see his face?


You can answer now—

“She doesn't want to answer,

She thinks you’ve gone mad!”


But there is no madness in the question. It is only a question . . .


“Yes,” she said.

And continued on,

“If I knew I was alone

Even in a crowd

And the sky delivered a mystery

I would.

Reach out.

And be brought in.”


Thank you for your honesty—

“Thanks for nothing, you mean!”


But thank you for telling the truth.


With a pair of eyes

Belonging only to her

She looked at the man

With the question,

“I would.”


© Jill Szoo Wilson, 2025