I wrote this poem in October during the full moon. I thought with tomorrow’s early morning lunar spectacular (blue moon/super moon/blood moon/lunar eclipse), this poem was appropriate. Oh yeah, and also the president’s first SOTU.
Last night I kept the blinds open,
unconcerned about who might see into
my bedroom, spy the fading tan on my
bare breasts. Because the full harvest
moon brightly lit up my darkened room,
and I somehow desperately needed to
fall asleep in the moon shine. My body
craved its cleansing luster. My mind
calmed under its brilliance.
As I drifted, I could still see the
silvery shimmer, like heat coming off
asphalt on summer’s hottest day, like
reflective prisms against a gentle
swimming pool under the sun’s fire.
But this glow was cool. It eased the lines
on my face and prepared my psyche
for a relaxed night.
Come October, I’m usually ready for
scary movies and creepy stories.
You know: being afraid of a madman
on the loose, feeling terrified of what
he might do, always on edge of an
impending apocalypse and its aftermath.
But these days, fear is engrained in
every hour, especially for
the Jewish people
those who identify as LGBT or Q
Gold Star families
natural disaster victims
and it’s worse if you are a
combination of any of the above.
All of this insanity, this never-ending
temper tantrum, this perverse power play
by a grossly inept and narcissistic hairdo is
enough to keep my hackles raised and my
fight or flight response on constant alert.
So you understand why when that moon
made its presence known above, it was
almost automatic to bask in it, the pearly
translucence overtaking the shadows.
I chose to use it to conjure peace.
I summoned all my familiars to serve as
protection. I invited spirits to watch
over me and mine. I casted spells of
love, health, and joy knowing the moon
would make them solid, would make them
grow whole, would make them come to pass
like the burn of moonshine as it passes