• Susanna Lang

I, Beast

Updated: Jul 24, 2019

child’s drawing on birch-bark, ca. 1260 



I, beast, carry the blind moon on my back,

copper coin with the sheen worn off

and the face hammered out of it.

I go by the old rutted roads.


A boy dreamed me, four backward feet 

and a curly tail, when he wasn’t dreaming battles,

himself victorious against all enemies.

But I outlived him.


I, beast, enter the stories you remember

as if they were inns by the side of the road, 

the sheets turned down for me.  

At times I walk upright in a mask and coat.


Now the boy is gone; the blood moon weighs

heavy, its bag worn and fraying at the seams.

I am afraid it will slip back into its place

above the trees, while I must keep to my road.



First published in North American Review and then in Travel Notes from the

River Styx (available from Terrapin Books and from Amazon).


next poem >

Recent Posts

See All

Unnamed Road

Jungjin Lee Not only the road wanders without a name. This shrouded woman climbing the steps beside the road and the man who, arms akimbo, walks through another frame where a low wall marks the edge o

Shelter

A child, could be six years old, clings to the maple, halfway up or halfway down— * * * * * a burl in the shape of a child, her knees drawn up to her belly. And it’s raining again. * * * * * I was six

Breakage

Once it’s been broken, the body holds the memory of falling as you would hold a fragile goblet that belonged to your great grandmother, whose name you also carry. The body holds with two hands the mem

© 2020 by Susanna Lang. Made with    by de la foye design studio.