SUN & MOON
howie good
1
It’s cold even for January. There’s no one else on the path. The backs of houses hidden the rest of the year are visible through the leafless trees. I feel like I’m looking at something I shouldn’t. Off in the distance a dog begins barking. Snow patchily covers the ruins of a garden the town planted in memory of the dead children, a brother and sister. The most mysterious thing, I read somewhere, is a fact clearly stated. The sun will shine for another six billion years.
2
The moon enters in a dark overcoat. It’s possible to see the suicide in people’s faces, the slope of their shoulders, the way their clothing is worn, their gait. There are days – many, in fact – fingers drum impatiently on the roof. The stairs that lead up also lead down to an iron bed, rumpled sheets, a photograph of insomnia. And always the same ending. I’m hunched over, tightening a screw with the edge of a dime. It does a bad job.