Satiny moons shine out and summon memory:
an egret’s luminous wing, your dinghy’s sail.
Moon plant, lunaria rediviva,
a weed unplanned, with persistent roots.
Peel off the shell and find transparent screens,
the filmy parchment for suibokuga,
a Japanese art: brush dipped in suma ink
and stroked so that no wrong line
could cut through. No second chances.
I hear moons ring like silver dollars
stamped with a rare promise:
In God We Trust. Airy moons endure,
stripped to their naked skins and vulnerable,
though still intact. Each a blank screen. For hope.
Among her other honors are the Aiken Taylor Award for poetry, a Guggenheim Fellowship, the Delmore Schwartz Memorial Award, and five Pushcart Prizes. About her poems, Harold Bloom has written, "Grace Schulman has developed into one of the permanent poets of her generation." Schulman is former director of the Poetry Center, 92nd Street Y, 1974-84, and former poetry editor of The Nation, 1971-2006.