Moon Phases – A Poem

Moonbeams shine through the window

Highlighting hands in circular motion

Scccrrruuuubbb, sccccrrruuuuubbb,

The sound elongating on each orbital pass

Along the Corelle plane

Muffling the hopeful crinkle of suds

 

She looks out the window

Her eyes following the moon path

Russsstling, russssssstling

Wrestling with her mind to focus on the task

She looks down at the wet line along her shirt waist

Pointing to the needy stack of temporary satiation

 

Slowly, her hands stop their motion

And she lifts up her right hand to

Capture the moonlight upon her palm

She watches the shadows play hide and seek 

And feels the pull of Artemis to abandon her post

An arrow pierces her heart 

And she holds her breath in realization

 

Quickly, she presses her face to the window

Her breath now fogs up the glass

HAAAAAAAAAA, haaaaaaaa…….Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh

The cooling pressure reminding her

The moon is cold and lonely like a clean plate 

She notices the front of her shirt is wet

IMG_5918

This poem was inspired by Patrick’s Pic and a Word Prompt #230 – Moon. I took this photo of the moon on a cloudy night this week. It looks so far away….

When I was thinking about this poem, I actually was washing dishes and looking out the window – this was after dinner, when the kids were still up and about and not at all tired enough for bed. The noise was daytime loud. There was nothing in particular that happened to make the day “bad” and even their after dinner/before bedtime squabbling wasn’t particularly bothersome. I was just waiting for the day to be over, so I could have some time for myself (sorry, Hubby).

It was only after all the kids (and Hubby) were in bed and the house was silent that I was able to formulate into words and phrases what that moment was like – a moment that I’m sure many mothers (and maybe some fathers) have experienced. It’s these moments that people always tell you to be grateful for because they will be gone soon enough.  It’s these moments that you try your hardest to accept as just a phase of life. 

I was reminded about a quote from St. Teresa of Calcutta, Mother Teresa, who said, “Wash the plate not because it is dirty nor because you are told to wash it, but because you love the person who will use it next.” Yet what if you’re having a hard time loving any of the potential people who will use the dish next because they are arguing about who’s turn it is to pick a show to watch while getting sticky ice cream and cake crumbs all over the couch? (It was supposed to be a nice treat….)  Maybe it takes a saint to not answer Artemis’ call….

 

© 2020 iido

 

Author Bio Critique – A Poem

When I read your author bio

I want to know if you are brown like me.

I want to know

If you can understand the happiness

Of the autumn wind.

But also

If you have been confused for being the tourist

Instead of the tour guide

In your own hometown.

Have you doubled over

On the 6th of the month

And lain in your bed

Praying

You don’t have to wash the sheets

Again

For the third time that day?

Have you been so angry

Because you weren’t sure

If the price was right

But know

That the man’s smile wasn’t?

I want to know

If you have struggled

With saying just the right words

So that

You know what you mean

But the other person

Thinks you’re agreeing with them.

All this

To avoid

The discomfort

Of not being like them

Not thinking like them

Not hating like them

Not praying like them.

When I read your author bio

Don’t make me guess

If your skin turns ashy

Without the cocoa butter cream.

Unless you write

Like how I talked

When I lived in Brooklyn

Wearing my big hoop earrings

With my favorite wide legged jeans and crop top

My bangs hiding my eyes

So when I said,

‘Sup

And did the up-nod

I could pass with my friends

Thinking I was some cool shit.

Unless you can capture that

In your first few lines

So that I would know

Without a doubt

That you get that

All-American point of view

Please tell me

What shade you are.

Because if there isn’t a picture,

If your name is that bland-from-no-where name,

Or the you’ve-changed-your-name-to-fit-in name,

Or the you’ve-taken-your-white-husband’s name

(Because we all know if they were your Partner, you would keep your own name so your parents won’t know)

If your author bio

Doesn’t say “where you’re REALLY from”

Then how will I know

If you can hear the tears

When the colored leaves fall?

©️ iido 2019