Thor's Mad Moon
by Mal Sanderson

We settled for the evening grass
far from the drinkers at the bar,
and watched the biggest moon I’d ever seen
lift out of the sea on the surf side
of Shaw’s Bay lagoon,
outside Ballina.

Memories drowned in dazzling flow,
of Changi, Malay girls in sarongs,
and udang sate. You spoke of Nordic Gods,
of longboat war songs, of Thor’s mad moon,
and the brutally short
summers of Sweden.

I’d been pieces when you found me,
scattered bits of a slow mending man.
You were silver jewelled, a black lace woman
beginning to know love for the grip
of a constant drink
in your elegant hand.
Years later in a checkout line
I saw you droop in a brown kaftan,
and caught unexpectedly by
distant thunder we turned in flight from
the burnt out longboat,
that one night stand.

Wordcarver's Poetry Collection
'Thor's Mad Moon' © 2002 Mal Sanderson
used by permission