Hanging

Full moon .... of course the moon is always full, but we know that, don't we?

If you will look closely, you might see the imprint of my fingernails alongside the dark side of the full moon.
Yes, I've been hanging on lately by my fingernails. Hanging on the what I know to be constant: the moon, the sun, the stars - even though many of those I see in the summer night sky have burned out long ago with their light just now getting to my vision.

Life has been ... well, life has been life lately.
I've sold most of my belongings, cleaned out so much stuff that a feng shui master would blush, and now I am finally getting to the point of letting my house go.

I've learned so much about my emotional state during all of this:
how I tend to overlook the obvious and concentrate only on the so called "distraction" of a situation.
Yes, I am talking about relationships.

Funny how you hear something over and over and then one day, or one night, or one instant, it SINKS into your soul and you GET IT! You actually GET IT!

I'm too old to be repeating childhood patterns when it comes to relationships, but repeat childhood patterns I do.
But I have realized something very deeply: it doesn't have to go on the way it has been.
I do know there is no such thing as a perfect friendship, relationship, etc.
But I do also know (and now I know this to the bone) that there are always signs that we often choose to ignore.
For instance, if a "friend" is always talking about herself or himself, where does that leave you and your concerns?
Or, if a new person in your life shows the qualities of someone who has hurt you deeply before, GET THE HELL AWAY IMMEDIATELY!

Signs are signs and are always there. Now, I intend to read them for what they are.

She Trembles (a prophecy)

SHE TREMBLES

She trembles and the trees growl.
Catacombed mystery-lined innards
daring machinery to bite at her memories.
You shall be punished for this!

She trembles and the oceans roll
with wet-tasting morsels sweetened
with thick oily poisons.
Leave her be!

You've marked her eyes
torn her flesh, ate her intentions
and streaked her thighs.
It's not only too late - it's too demanding.

Scattering her memories once honored
now disgraced by progress.
Milking her breasts with pumps of steel
smearing her face with hardening make-up

building mounting erecting her belly
with toys she will someday destroy.
You silly foolish ones
who desire to capture the future in signs.

There is no future for you
save retribution and in-kind contributions
from those you represent.
She trembles and we all fall down.

MariJo Moore ©1997