Harvest Moon: a poem

The full harvest moon, peeking through clouds

in a pale blue morning sky

watched me drive to my new job today.

You said you want the old me

and his letter searches for the girl

who could paint fairy tales and pretend

the world revolved solely around

my endless energy and the innate ability

to fatally romance every man I chose.

You remember someone grasping at

every moment to be with you,

dressing up to please you, giggling.

I do not know the last time I laughed.

Each morning I wake, cling to a job

that I still do not understand and pray

I can keep long enough

to merely pay a majority, not all, of the bills,

go home alone with just enough energy

for what absolutely

needs to be done,

perhaps a poem here or there,

and collapse to read in bed,

the small parcel of energy allotted me

seeping from my pores and out my fingertips,

diminishing ever readily and earlier as

my age progresses.

I wonder why God keeps me alive.

It cannot be for this solitary existence,

coming alive only in small moments

when family is near

or my son enfolds his arms around me.

It cannot be to oversense and overfeel

and question the ability to trust,

pushing tears back through gritted teeth

and stiff jaw.

It cannot be to give myself again

to a man who sees himself as center

and the world revolving to bow around him.

It cannot be to remain cold and unknown,

grasping for small moments of recognition

in the sun.

It is said that before it gets better

it must get worse

and that the caterpillar must dissolve and be alone

to gain her wings

but I wonder how many times

must I do this

how long

until I break

and the moon watches as

I dissolve to nothing.

October 2, 2020

Tansy Julie Soaring Eagle Paschold