The Sickle Moon Revisited Poem by Sheena Blackhall
The Sickle Moon Revisited
I am the moon.
Once, the snow fox curled in my smoky craters
Ivy softened my sides
Dewdrops breathed my air.
Stuff happens. Life. The usual.
I picked my hurts red raw
Opened my scars repeatedly
The scabs healed over. Only dust remains
Now I hang in the glacial Heavens
Too dead to shout, beyond all touch and joy
Your night light. Your comfort.
Your sad old silver King
All of my fires burnt out
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 1:06:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
