Let the Contested Moments Begin by Carol Dorf

Meet me in the field by the light of the moon. Who hasn’t wanted to text that to a friend or frenemy? I want to hold your elbow. No one ever claimed that, aside from my grandmother, who was too embarrassed to use a cane and so relied on family for balance. Those Russians, she muttered, implying they were too free with the raspberries that grew freely in Pennypack Park. At least she wasn’t the one who claimed Those Armenians, they think they are above the law. Like most people who have inhabited this planet, both are long gone now. If you meet me by the light of the moon, I promise not to bring stones. What would you wish on a shooting star? One kid said No more shootings, and we all moved on from that stone in the road. I prefer the children who can’t get infinity out of their minds. What counts or who counts? Count your steps when you meet me in the field by the light of the moon. You wouldn’t want to get lost out there after the night creatures gobble their way through your trail of breadcrumbs. You would be better off with stones. Don’t worry, I am not a big believer in having the unsuspecting stoned. Do you want to be a friend, or should we settle in frenemy territory? When my grandmother held my elbow, it was so much easier to keep my balance.