In the Belly of the Moon

In the Belly of the Moon

I’ve written more poems by the glow of the bathroom nightlight than have ever passed through these fingers in daylight hours. With children and a husband sleeping, my options for daytime writing—and nighttime writing without waking anyone—are limited. So, the bathroom nightlight and I are long-time writing friends.

Last night my mind was yadda yadda yadda-ing. It had been a day doing things way outside my comfort zone, and not in a good way.

Easing into the bathroom to brush my teeth (yes, the same one with the nightlight) I glanced out the window and there was the moon, round and radiant and utterly captivating. With a soft, almost audible thump, I was out of my head and into my body; out of the natter chatter and into my senses. Here’s what I scribbled:

natter chatter natter chatter
deep and quiet this night may be but
my head is two-dozen pickles 
shoved in a twelve pickle jar, 

and salty and spilling and 
then through the night-dark window 
she slides into view—all full-bellied 
radiance and exquisite

and she rises.

watching her sling her rich-bellied calm
further into the night my hand touches 
my own round belly, all pearl and 
shadows and—finally—radiant

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