The eleventh moon

The elders whispered in my sleep -
In this time of the eleventh moon,
all that you are flits across the sky.
It is the time of gathering lessons
and offering yourself to the immensity
of your fate. Time to put away all that is dear
and let it wane as day fades into night.
As memory sinks beneath oblivion,
embrace the moon’s musing.

The voices clatter like frail leaves
swaying in the night’s breezes,
snagged against one another.
Each wanting to be first to unclasp
and drift to the ground;
they litter my house
with scrupulous noises.

I cannot see the road ahead
for the obstruction on my windshield -
the potholes catch me by surprise.
Still I know what’s waiting at the corner;
cat-like, poised in suspenseful posture.
I set the wheels in motion
and soon the tides will engulf me.

Swerving and veering in a drunken fury,
to fling away this onus -
it clings as lichen to a rotting stump.
The design veiled - a cloying mesh
wrapped around my face.
Leaving nothing but curiosity
to move me forward.


© 2001 Melissa Songer