Moon in cancer
and a dog howling
A snake eats its own tail,
the moon eats itself
What lies below: fish coming to
surface, drawn by some mystery
What lies above: a change. A blessing
not to be taken for granted
Past perfect. Present perfect. Future perfect.
Dark side, light side. Scars as record
I am no less lost as I get older
but I do try to know:
Is the moon waxing or waning?
Full, or new?
###
if I could submerge myself
into the cold plunge
with abandon,
the same abandon used for being
dull with heat and steam,
stuck to the damp wood, sweaty,
could be neck deep in the frigid water
nerves afire, over awake, over alive,
baptism, born new, submission to the world,
crystalized in firm purpose,
lowered heart rate and
red flushed skin tingling
then it might be different.
But perhaps it is enough
to be born one time only
###
the way in new orleans
mardi gras lingers in every nook and cranny,
how long after shrovetide's end
strands of beads festoon the fences,
glitter off telephone wires,
dreams of a raven gone mad,
rhythm of carnival continuing
thru the second lines that march
across every random weekend,
echoing past ash wednesday's solemn pnance,
the hushed vigil at the tomb,
the much-heralded virgin birth,
that's how it is with me still,
years later, with the memory of
your hands at my throat
###
Nora Rawn works in publishing and lives in Brooklyn; her writing can be found on many neocities pages across the web.