Skip to main content

When the Moon Needs a Nap

"Whose turn is it to watch for paradise?"
- Sarah Provence

First shake of daylight lets loose the hounds
of dark roast, growling in the grinder. Escorted
to the north panes of the bedroom a bright
blustery landscape drops by to affirm the hour of rise
and shine, shakes her shoulder twice more. She's no
ground hog seeking a shadow for six more weeks of sleep.

She's waxing gibbous across November with cirrus clouds
accreting in penumbra's halo where a shadow's a shadow
and a girl has to dream out the wrinkled blueprints
for birthing a season. Once seeded, she could
blame the warts of her temperament on splotched
indigestion from fetid sumac and green persimmons,
blame her impatience on the milky chains of water and earth
that wouldn't hold up their end of a bargain.

Millstones of great lakes, menses, horseshoe crabs,
frazzled lunatics tug at their mucilaged
tethers, her rise and shine dims; her gifts for epiphany long
retired to Miami, velvet gloves that cradled so many
sallow silhouettes have grown thin. Morning light
in winter, that cruel taskmaster, exposes
every naked line of forest and field. With no blood
to blush, best thing to do is shiver.

She prays for sleep, be it broken and shattered, wormy
with worry or deeply deltoid gliding along her orbit
on graphite bearings. Count on her keystones to keep
empty the space between dawn and daylight, the split seconds
past dusk. The moon may be capricious at heart, undecided
but count on her changing her tune thrice more -
once as the alabaster solstice climaxes across her belly
once more to meddle in milkshake skies,
and once to revive her robust hunger for pastels and perfume.

Listen to her croon on about neap tides, pomegranates
and February thunder and as she slips toward crescent,
her snores arousing clouds of offspring who forget
respect for the weary. Hounds loose, java grinding;
it's a ruckus promising paradise. This month
she'll settle for warm beer and ten winks.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

2020 Pandemic Journey Day 44

May 4, 2020 Today’s idea – What has the fog of our modern conveniences begat? I read an article last night published in 1950 by Berton Roueche’ titled The Fog . In October 1948, a toxic smog settled on the borough of Donora, PA. This town is tucked away on a meander of the Monongahela River in the Allegheny Mountains.   During that time, it was home to three huge mills, a steel plant, and a zinc and sulfuric acid plant. The towering factory stacks of these industries pushed out thick plumes of coal smoke all day and all week. Also, given the town’s proximity to the river, boats and trains added their emission to the cocktail. To seal the deal, Donora sits in the topography of secluded bluffs and hills that allow for little or no wind to carry the smoke and fumes out of town.   So the place was known to be a smutty, smokey mess, tolerated by residents who referred to the sulfurous stench as the smell of money. On this weekend in October, a thermal inversion put a tighter li...

Covid19 Journey Day 20

April 10, 2020 Today’s idea – Maybe we’ve needed this for a long time.   To be stopped so we could take a long moment and assess what is alive in us and what is mere rote living, what is unnecessary and what really matters; what we carry by empty habit. To know that busier doesn’t make us more worthy- a good work ethic is not to be confused with constant motion.   We’ve needed this to   learn how to be together as family again, to sit together in conversation, to listen to one another, to play and read together, help solve problems even do homework together, cook together, sit around a table again. And to say to each other, here are boundaries, this is okay and that is not okay because we do that for the ones we love. We needed this to understand that isolation can be hard on some people sheltering in place, the abuser with the abused,   those that must shelter alone, those who need consistent home care for a chronic illness or condition, the family receiving h...

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.