Starred and Stoned
We are legion, in between the plates of this skull:
Terra firma, of the mind’s fickle boundaries
On a piece of planet, that keeps getting recycled;
From burnt supernovas, to soup kitchens:
How many distant whispers from my old remnants
Call to me from the dark, moist body of my mother?
How many other plots have I called home,
While inhabiting these collections of dust and plasma-
I can feel my once-atoms trying to summon me again,
From every corner of this starred-and-stoned universe;
For I was Sister Moon, once known to St. Francis,
And I am part and parcel of the unlikely rabble
Burnt St. Joan’s body into the stake, upon unsympathetic scaffolding;
My bones daily bear the brunt of every curse and offering,
Here in my own timeless tragedy, of trembling flesh.
I wish it were not true that I feel exactly like this...well, aside from the "sister moon"...could I be "brother moon"....would we then be "moonies"....well spoken poem ...a human voice inhabits this poem and I feel it
I really enjoyed reading this verse, even though I'm slow and don't get all of your meanings. It has a feel of re-incarnation about it and other things too. Nice write, Sister Moon.
reincarnation can be a hassle