The Moon in Daylight

by K Janeschek

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Another month has passed and still—no night.
The sun merely dips below the horizon.

In six months, I will be celebrating
every inch the light takes, but today

and tomorrow I sit at the window,
dreaming I cannot see the trees.

Until you come here, you would not believe
you could suffocate on air as dry

as this. But we do, and I am. My body
doesn’t know itself without darkness

to guide it, shadows to tongue its edges.
My body is seen too much 

to touch itself. At midnight, the birds
are still singing. Soon it will sound 

no different from screams.

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K Janeschek is a writer and labor organizer originally from the Midwest. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Mid-American Review, Foglifter, Nimrod International Journal, HAD, Variant Lit, Split Rock Review, Hoxie Gorge Review, and elsewhere, and has won an AWP Intro Journals Project award in poetry. They live in Alaska.