More than anything, I feel like we are tiny oceans.
With them full moons, bellies breakin’ water,
delivering new life under that perfect, magic light.
some people actin’ a fool.
“Every time there’s a full moon…” they say.
I notice it.
I notice the rise and fall.
like jetsam and flotsam.
some of it belonging to bigger things,
others are a just a by-product of what they used to be.
I look out and see,
people, a little wobbly.
Like tiny hurricanes,
and grumpy neighbors who want more space.
You see, our bodies are mostly made of water.
And like the tides, the water in our bodies
To big places. And into cracks,
and little rivers, constructed via plastic shovel and pail.
Sometimes we rise over rock walls
and flood the marshes.
Sometimes we change things.
I don’t know about you,
but there’s something in that big moon.
Just far enough away.
Our sweet Sister Moon.
I look up when I see Her,
thankful for how she pulls me into a dance,
where I’m clumsy and awkward,
or quiet and centered.
And I realize I am not the only one
who’s able to fall in love again.