re Pumpkin Moon

Chases my inky form or am I following it?
I’m reminded of pumpkin moon lodged
in Omoba sky; under which my young

fanny was fingered by Uncle Innocent’s paws.
On frayed mat in a camphor tinged room,
I wriggled; bewildered, until my movements
became bound by the spell of magic moon.

Now: I imagine pumpkin moon has the power
to reach into my skull and crack its wall,
scattering the pips of dormant gloom. It near-
succeeds, tugging the corners of Vaselined lips.

Catherine Mark