Twice—A Blue Moon

WHAT I ATE ON THE MOON
—Jane Blue, Sacramento

Dust. I ate dust for lunch.
White dust with a taste of ash.
I ate moss from the dark side.
I lived on the moon as a child.
It is a stone I hold in my hand.
Girls pray to the moon. I
prayed to the moon and the stars.
When I ate I thought of a day
I was not born. Sun and moon
stand in the sky and don’t meet.
Like me and Dad. Men and
wo-men. Woe to men. Moon
pulls tides. I am tide. I was
a girl, strange one who bleeds.
Now I am old. Bruise
takes the place of the flow,
floods my skin, pink and green.
A lump in my leg prods me
each day. Says I am here.
Pain. A seed, hard and gem-like
that tells me: Here I will stay.
I will be your son.

(From The Persistence of Vision by Jane Blue, Poet’s Corner Press, 2003)

________________________

Sorry about the pun in the title of today's post; Jane Blue was kind enough to send two moon poems in response to yesterday's call for them, and I just couldn't ignore the Blue Moon thing. Send Medusa your moon poem by midnight on Friday and receive a free copy of Todd Cirillo's new rattlechap, Everybody Knows the Dice are Loaded, which will be released Weds., May 10 at The Book Collector.

Books! (1) I've been mentioning the SPCA book sale: more than 10,000 new and used books at Marketplace at Birdcage, next to Longs Drugs in Citrus Heights. Runs every day this week through Sunday, May 7: 10 am-8 pm weekdays and Saturday, 11-6 Sunday. (2) Today The Sacramento Bee lists PaperBackSwap.com as a resource for trading paperback books online, including poetry. I haven't tried it, so I can't personally vouch for it, but we can check it out. Books are free; the shipper pays the postage and gets credit for another book.

And (3) Saturday is Free Comic Book Day, in which millions of comic books will be given out at retailers across the US. Info: www.freecomicbookday.com for a seller near you. Lest you wrinkle your nose, keep in mind that it is the comic book industry that keeps Medusa and the rest of the Snake empire in business. :-)

Deadline for Snake 10 is two weeks from yesterday, the 15th. Taylor Graham reminds folks to keep responding to her challenge for poems about "time"—ones that play with time, or manipulate it. Less than 26 lines, please, and send them to piper@innercite.com or to Graham, Box 39, Somerset, CA 95684. Please put "Fun Poetry" on the subject line or envelope.

TG sent Medusa a moon poem, too. She says that both she and Medusa seemed overly-preoccupied with snakes. I say it's The Edge—poetry (and other things) with fangs. Poets are clearly intrigued with danger and with the edge of the envelope—why else would they engage in such a risky business as poetry?

MOON SNAKES
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

At night she hears the ticking
like a kitchen timer for a soft-
boiled egg the way her husband likes it

as he grunts behind the news-
paper open to yesterday’s statistics,
ticker-tapes and series standings.

The Moon, full round in her black nest
of stars, stares through the window-
screen; hums mosquito-whine or

is that the fridge that sings
in the dark to its grade-A jumbos
in their flat-gray carton?

Or the wall-clock ticking repetitious
cycles, like it’s keeping count
of breakfasts, kisses, years.

Maybe that’s what a Moon-
snake sounds like, as it swims
inside its egg, testing the slick

curved inside of its silver shell.
And then, the sliver-crack
in that perfect full.

_______________________

Thanks, TG!

Here's Jane Blue's other moon poem. Jane is working on a rattlechap to be released in November:

THE VISITOR
—Jane Blue, Sacramento

Up on Ione Road the moon hung a lacquered disk
above a hill opposite where the comet would appear
patches of water toward sunset reflecting in the fields
like something alien, a pool of mercury or a similar
element unknown on earth. We heard crickets
and the occasional moo of an invisible cow, a growl
close that startled us; and there was the sweet-
pungent smell of native grasses at nightfall
as over our shoulders the moon began to be eaten.
Sky darkened in the west, the comet winked sideways
and in binoculars its bright head and long tail
began to come clear, a visitor from another time—
not even in time as we know it, light years away
so silent, so unforthcoming, I wanted to put salt
on its tail to keep it in my grasp but we had to go back
the diminished moon chasing us, the comet beside us
there—in front of us—on my side, on your side
then lost in the neon of McDonald’s, Burger King
then found again in our own neighborhood. We
showed it to Gene gaping in the middle of the street
at the eclipse. I went in, to bed, never saw the moon
come back from its destruction; it’s morning now, birds,
azure sky, I’m writing this to continue to believe.

________________________

Thanks, Jane!

One final note: I'm sure most of you have heard about the passing of Victor Selinsky. I've been holding off on mentioning it because Pearl has been very much in need of privacy, but today the obituary is in The Bee. Victor's death was very sudden; those of us who were at Berkeley Poets' Dinner in early April saw him there, full of his usual vitality and good humor and looking forward to a showing of his art that evening. Thank you, Victor, for all your contributions to the artistic community. And our hearts go out to Pearl in this difficult, difficult time.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)