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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