Archives for category: moon

Flesh and Blood Moon

Anyone who hadn’t read
the news might have supposed
it was the end of the world;
that the sun had tried
to come up as usual,

but found to his dismay
that he couldn’t quite
swing it as he had done
since time immemorial,
and so we were left
with a dusky orb
and a darkened world.

But it was not a star
malfunction that night.
It was you, my beautiful
bloody bride,
and I woke up before dawn
and crept outside in my bathrobe
to be with you again,

and maybe even to marry you,
as I have felt we might be
a good match ever since
a waxing moon fell from the sky
like a boomerang of fate
and made a crescent-shaped
scar in my forehead, so that now
from a certain angle,

people tell me they see
that same sad, otherworldly face
that only you have mastered,
especially on those nights
when you show me everything.

I came to look for you,
and there you were,
suspended in the charred sky
like a single Christmas ornament,
as though God did not feel
the need tonight for tinsel stars,
the distraction of clouds.

It made me immensely sad
to gaze upon you, drowning in colors
borrowed from some unspeakable place.
Mars, perhaps.

In my selfish longing, I wanted
to do as they used to promise
in the movies, to lasso you with a rope
and tug you gently down to me,
take you back to bed with me,
and let the dark world go on spinning
without you.

I admit I may have been
slightly deluded to suppose
that you could discern my thoughts,
read my desires, or grant my wishes—

even though as a child
I presumed you could do all three,
and you know I have looked
to you in this way more times
than I can count.

Unlike all the others,
you have never let me down.

Claire Juno, © 2014


Melancholy’s Baby

I was a glimmering remnant,
a moon sliver she clung to
in the dark void.

I was all that remained
of her innocence and hope,
of her diaphanous love
seeping through the disrepair
of everything that mattered,
though in the end
it altered nothing—
a useless ether.

I was a bookmark,
a singular point
of goodness and perfection
along a fading timeline
well-worn and stained
with tears and wine.

Every investment in her
tenuous future
seemed to sit squarely
on my shoulders
as I marched—
some heroic ambassador
for her desperate country,
even as she secretly entertained
thoughts of self-exile.

Claire Juno, © 2012


…dedicated to my mother

Moon Shine

You didn’t know I was
working on the tides while
we sat together talking.

You face looks like the moon,
you said, and I just smiled
and sat stock still, focused
on something beyond us.

Those blue shadows cast
across the grass are from me,
I said, but you laughed
and took my hand in yours,
not understanding.

You’re all silvery tonight,
you said, and I looked at you,
waiting for you to realize,
but you just gazed intently
like you were wishing something.

We passed the crowds
and one by one, a strange look
in their eyes, as though entranced—

lovers were fighting and fighters
were kissing under dark trees.

And you whispered under your breath,
What’s with everybody tonight?
And I only said whatever it was,
it would pass with the rise of the sun.

Claire Juno, © 2012