Spring 2006 SLAM! - Congrats to the winners - see you all next time! |
Gift of the Moon I lived a while pared to the bone, an existence stripped of feeling, a dullness in my blood. I was as thin and pale as the crescent moon. I tried to speak of it, but my words were both hollow and heavier than earth, uninspired--which means without god's breath. All too human, my own meager breath was shallow, weak, unable to open the bone cage around my heart. Unable to praise earth, my home, I dragged my sluggish blood across the grass. I had no words, I could not pray even to my mother moon. But she was kind, gentle looming moon. She caught my gaze, she let me hold my breath, she counted out the necessary grid of words in the night sky, patient to the bone. She waited, then, behind clouds, till my cold blood felt at peace on the darkened earth. Only then, calm, emptied, but rooted to the earth in all its cycles--dark of the moon, hidden moon, moon on high, dawn, noon, sun heating the blood-- only then could I take the deepest breath and know ecstasy, a tremble at bone level, too deep for thought, too rare for words. And yet she let me have them--words! My ecstasy--to speak of the dear earth, blue, brown, green, and of the moon, the color of bone. Still now she hides herself, my shy moon, on nights of such rippling beauty as to take my breath away, heart wide open, pounding with blood! This is the song, bold or soft, of my blood, pulsing lyric or lullaby of few and lilting words, the line that breaks with a catch of the breath! Now I can sing of the garden of earth, its eternal ecstasy, hung between moon and sun, flung with flower, dust, flesh, bone. My blood rushes to touch the earth, all words hushed but ready, till, at the rise of the moon, with sudden breath, ah, joy to the bone!
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