The moon rises orange,
cords of black cloud circling
her pregnant belly.
My daughter drew Jupiter
this way, using thirty-seven
shades of red, she traced each ring,
one atop the other, placed each
yellow moon in orbit. The teacher
wrote Late! at the top of the page.
Nothing is ever late.
Not this tolling carillon.
Not this wind tossed litter.
Not this Jupiter rising over black water,
where a fish swims the moon,
and we walk without drowning.
Rasma Haidri grew up in Tennessee and makes her home in Norway where she teaches British and American studies. Her writing appears in anthologies by Puddinghouse, Seal Press, Bayeux Arts, Marion Street Press, The Chicago Review Press and Grayson Books among others, and in journals such as Sycamore Review, Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Fourth Genre, Runes, Kalliope and I-70 Review. Winner of the Southern Women Writers Association Emerging Writer Award in Creative Non-fiction, and the Wisconsin Academy of Arts, Letters & Science Poetry Award, she has co-authored three college textbooks. More about Rasma can be found at www.rasma.org.