Books by Diane Frank

Rhododendron Shedding its Skin

Five Moons

In the basement
of a farmhouse in Iowa,
my friend pulls out his cards
and says,
"you're going to have a meeting
with the dark one"

I tell him I live in the attic
where nobody comes to see,
but the sky is clear
and the stars are lovely
just before morning.
If you watch them for years,
sometimes they change colors.

In the attic
I blow the stars out of their boxes,
and the moon begins to rise —
a small crescent
hanging like a thumbnail
or a dagger full of light.

— Diane Frank