This moon
this changing mood
am I waxing
am I waning
am I full?

These empty ovaries
twin moons
white nodules in the sea
of me
fireless
stony and silent.

My mood slithers from orbit
like a cracked egg
sliding
down my thigh
I’m moving
toward uselessness.

My mother
assures me,
the time beyond this time
eclipses
this night’s passage
these moonless days.

Last night
a shine penetrated
my sleep
and when I drew aside the curtain
to curse my neighbour
it was the moon!
Cold
and glaring
a full spot light of insomnia
burning through
my stony odd balls.

© Sandy Day 2013