PoetryChroma Magazine

Blood Red Moon

PoetryChroma Magazine
Blood Red Moon

by Richard King Perkins II

 

A man named Moon, an eagerly helpful guy

we only ever knew him as Moon

he rented a room or an apartment from my parents

he didn’t work maybe he paid the rent in weed

maybe he paid in some other way.

When I imagine his face it looks so much

like my younger brother’s does now, not like me

certainly not like my father who was gone

for a very long time once when I was three

maybe the hospital or jail or he just needed

to get away for a while.

When my dad returned, Moon soon disappeared,

permanently eclipsed. I’m sure my dad killed him

and stole his baby son, not from jealousy or anger, 

not anything petty.

It was just his way.