Moon

Reading some moon reflections over at Cusp's, I remembered a poem I wrote a long while back. The title refers to the pain that is sometimes felt by women in mid-cycle, at ovulation.

Old poems: some I feel no connection to any more but some still speak, give utterance to something or other that matters to me. I wouldn't write a moon poem like this now, and the cold eye of distance looks at things that want revision. But I'm still glad to see it again.




Mittelschmerz


Yes, at this point I am all moon
and close to the earth I have gathered
thoughts from the multitude of sinners
night after night I am spinning

spinning straw into gold

gracious above dreams
I accept your wishes and your fears
magicians
princes
swineherds

you should know
this is not a reflection I am
a substance all my own
constant in the darkness

men call me fickle
men call me cold
beggars and kings

I accept your names
my heart is a crucible
hope is rejoicing
in the substance of things


(this was written sans punctuation, with spaces - but Blogger is not poetry-friendly and will not permit unorthodox spaces)