Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey and has lived many years in Germany, where she works for a news agency. Her poems have appeared in Third Coast, Barn Owl Review, Opium and Front Porch, among other publications.
If the moon comes out bearing nicks and bite marks,
you’ll find me smoothing my skin of its cares tonight.
Under a halo the size of a ring, the old
arguments sit splitting their oldest hairs tonight.
Look at me crooked. Mistake me for Eve. If looks
deceive, who knows which mask our maker wears tonight?
On the tablecloth, red and bending like bows, wine
glass stains stutter their elliptical prayers tonight.
Yet again, love drops anchor where lust dug its moat.
On the roof, angels play musical chairs tonight.
My signature moves like loops and lightning. Letter
posted, I’ll sleep the sleep of millionaires tonight.