Supermoon

Last October’s Supermoon left me quite bruised. I had looked forward to observing it. A dear friend of mine had me and another close friend over for a fire pit evening. We’d observe the cool supermoon in her backyard while sipping on tea and catching up on life. An owl landed on a nearby branch, entering the same frame as the moon. It felt ominous in a way.

The evening was great, as always with these two gals. But that night, I felt restless. I slept and dreamt terribly. The following day felt dark and heavy—quite unreasonably so. I couldn’t really put my finger on it. So I did what I often do when life presents a mystery. I opened my sketchbook and put down how it felt.

Yesterday I happened to flip back to this sketchbook page. Looking at it now, it resonates so much more. It feels like a warning. And, sure enough, what came post October feels as heavy as the night post Supermoon. The chaos and disasters that cover the news today, and the helplessness I feel are difficult to stomach. Today, reflecting on that night’s dreams and emotions, I wrote this poem in response.

Supermoon

Creeping low in the night

Grotesquely inflated

Furiously red, blindingly bright

Moon stared and berated.

Tired, drained, and heavy-eyed

I run from the lunuar scorn

Aware of an ominous tide

I sleep, I weep, I mourn.

Tension beneath my skin

Warning drum in my pulse

Breathlessly tiptoeing on the rim

Walking straight into a curse.

Chasing exits around tight corners

Endless halls and filthy rooms

Walls and edges squeeze my shoulders

Through veins, blood boils and brews.

Scraping skin, pressing bone

Hard to breathe, hard to see

I clearly hear a threatening tone

Stars, like daggers, after me.

Pricked into my ribs

Stabbed into my core

Gnawing like a jinx

Moon’s caution leaves me sore.

An echo reaches me

Spirit freezes me

Sweat drenches me

A jolt awakens me.

Reliable Sun forces Moon out

Dawn bleaches the midnight stains

But regretfully, stubbornly devout

Moon’s dark prophecy remains.