Midnight moon. Full. Cold. White.
The bright black sky biting
with beauty. Hurting.
Moon must have been crushed
that night he was found: pushed,
frog-marched, bound–not heard.
Could he even see the sky? Night dew
saw him. A crocus knew.
A blackbird
flew, grieved, called, saw too much,
as I saw when I watched and watched,
until the last word.
Johanna Caton, O.S.B., is a Benedictine nun from Minster Abbey in Kent, England. Born in Virginia, she lived in the United States until adulthood, when her monastic vocation took her to England. She writes poetry as a means of understanding the work of God in her life, whose purposes and presence can be elusive until viewed through the more accommodating lens of art and poetry. Her poetry has appeared, or will appear in Green Hills Literary Lantern, Time of Singing Christian Poetry Journal, The Ekphrastic Review, The Christian Century, Amethyst Review and other venues. She is a 2020 Pushcart Prize nominee.