Category: Moon

Moon Series 2018 – Day 22

Waxing Gibbous (almost full) – 10:00 p.m.
10/22/18

maybe I’m tired of writing about the moon
maybe I’ve forgotten how to sit still and be alone
maybe I’m terrified of my own quiet mind
reflection leads me down the dark trails
where nostalgia is as sharp as this frigid autumn night

the moon may as well be the sun or a strange planet
or a dream you told me about once
when your hands were small enough to fit into mine
and nightmares scared you

that’s when time felt the most real
and we invented a special place where you could go
filled with warm woods, bright water
and a cabin brimming with stuffed animals
a place built from smoke and memory
a place that kept you safe from bad dreams
a place whose entrance was guarded by dreamcatchers

why not meet me there?
now you can save me from my own bad dreams

Moon Series 2018 – Day 17

Waxing Gibbous – 10:00 p.m. (ish)

I saw it swollen
a pregnant belly
in the 6 o’clock sky
The moon, in plain sight
and again, hours later
when the night was fully dark
as I shivered, rushing the dog
to do his business
so we could get out of the cold

The moon may not have noticed
how I went back on my word
to sit each night
in observation
of every phase

This year’s moon
hangs heavily
as if mourning the burden
of my abandonment,
a grieving moon,
that knows me better
than I know myself

Moon Series 2018 – Day 9

Tuesday, October 9th, 2018 – 9:27 p.m.
Waxing Crescent

I don’t have any expectations
not for the moon or for myself
the sky looks like a backdrop
the stars, too perfect
and much too dim
in the polluted glow
of this bright neighborhood

If I pause to let the blackness
settle in around the stars
they emerge, brighter
and I can see something more
– so much more –
in between each constellation

Where there should have been nothing
there is light
faint, a film that seemed at first
like a shroud
luminous and barely visible
twisting and breathing,
alive

Tonight, maybe the silence was enough

Moon Series 2018 – Day 8

Monday, October 8th, 2018
New Moon

if the moon is new
does that mean we get to start over?

you just had it in your hand
safe and whole
and you swore you’d never lose it
how could you?
it was solid and real, irreplaceable
you weren’t careless
you never looked away, distracted
or did you?
did you put it down only to discover
it’s lost!
or worse, so much worse
maybe you dropped it and
as you reached for it, heart thumping
watched it shatter
it’s gone!
when it was just whole

so what’s real now?
you have pictures
you remember how it felt
the weight of it
but now you’re standing here
without it
and nothing makes sense

you want to look for it forever
because how can it be gone?
you’ll keep searching
until you find it, or
until you accept the new reality
whichever comes first

Moon Series 2018 – Day 4

Thursday, October 4th, 2018 – 11:30 p.m.
Waning Crescent

Dark sky but no rain
I’m too busy to sit with the mosquitos
(as their main course)
and gaze up at another dark sky
what does it matter anyway?
I may never see the moon
or make that connection
with October’s chill breath
the crisp leaves, my girls small
wonderous, alive

Autumn will always be about their childhood
and mine
I’m so sad

Sometimes the moon helps
the crescent looks so familiar
a smile in the darkness
but there are times
I only see a vicious moon
sharp, lethal, sinister
cold as a winter storm

When the moon threatens me
I’m not myself
when the navy sky is moonless
I feel abandoned

Then the stars aren’t enough
no matter how plentiful
no matter how persistent
nothing’s enough

My grief is like a moonless night

Moon Series 2018 – Day 2

Tuesday, October 2nd, 2018 – 10:01 pm
Waning Crescent

Not that I can see it beneath the saturated sky,
nature’s drop ceiling descending on this autumn night
like a heavy shroud. The crescent hangs somewhere far above
a gleaming, impartial jewel

Maybe the moon feels isolated behind the clotted clouds
trying to to connect with the dark earth and all of us
who scramble along with false moons shining through flat glass

I’ve stopped romanticizing the sky
but I still like a clear night and a bright bullet of stone
that’s why I keep looking up

It was so much better when you were here asking questions
impatient with the clouds. Now I’m lonelier than the moon
and all its dull colorless magic

Life was a mystery. It was a given.
I think the moon might fall.

Moon Series 2018 – Day 1

Monday, October 1st, 2018 – 8:30 p.m.
Waning Gibbous

There’s no chance I’ll see the moon tonight
the steady rain made sure of that
noon’s warmth seems like a dream
in this bitter chill
it’s far too soon to lose the heat of summer
but who am I to say when a season should end?

It’s already October, after all
and if I’m being truthful
than I must admit I’ve learned
that seasons play by their own rules
when summers stretch on far too long
when winters begin in October
and linger into April
but, you know,
it’s always spring and autumn
that get short changed, truncated
by a late frost or an early nor’easter

so why did I stop thinking about the moon?
because there’s no hint of it
on this velvet night
the darkness feels permanent

Morning Moon

I saw the morning moon
a ghost in the September chill
a silent witness
lingering far past sunrise
perhaps defiant
as light spilled onto the horizon

loitering, impervious
ignoring the sun’s glare
intrigued with the blueing sky
amazed at the cardinal’s song

watching, with interest
the flicker of life within dark houses
examining the dog’s eager quest
for the perfect patch of grass

Anticipation

Three more days until I greet the moon
There’s no telling what I’ll see.
The moon holds no meaning of its own.
I’m throwing my expectations
up at the sky, prepared to see the moon
through the lens of my own reality,
but I’m not comparing myself to the sun;
beautiful in the harsh, dazzling way of diamonds
and razor-cheeked models with hollow throats.
last year, the moon looked sharp and ominous
a sickle moon, ready to slice me in half
a cold moon, stealing the warmth from my skin
pulling the breath from my lungs,
in billowing clouds the color of bone.

September Again

I brushed the moving seasons with my fingers
feeling the light grow heavier
as the weight of autumn pressed closer
and the moon sat lower in the sky,
squat and round and brooding.
I have no lightness left,
no light,
the terrestrial prison around me
holds no fascination
I am old, at once,
tired of missing you
afraid of bearing this grief forever
afraid of the fast turning days
afraid of my slow, inevitable decay.
I envy the dead.
If our spirits are eternal
than why do we forget?
Why do we come back?
I’m locked here
as lonely as the cold moon.