New Moon

While traveling across sky

the slice of moon

spoons its darkened round

while the yellow dog

and black pup pair

in sleep by the stove.

Plates rattle in the kitchen.

Bruce drops hard noodles

into the boil of stove-water,

bubble and sputter, we chatter:

the absence of the addled boss,

the subtraction of our daughter,

the cold, lingering sun.

A kitchen silenced:

a constellation of family,

a darkened galaxy

whispering stars and dust in orbit,

distant, without a sound.

Here we are,

forks full of noodles.

Stories tumble around us,  

take shape in their telling.

This one a star; another a pair

of sleeping dogs; still another

a hollowed crescent bowl.

KERSTEN CHRISTIANSON is a raven-watching, moon-gazing, high school English-teaching Alaskan. Currently she is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry through the University of Alaska Anchorage and will earn her degree in July 2016. Her recent work has appeared in Cirque, Tidal Echoes, The Fredericksburg Literary & Art Review, We’Moon and Heartbeat: A Literary Journal. Kersten co-edits the quarterly journal, Alaska Women Speak. She lives in Sitka, Alaska.