Eight Poems About the Moon

Pimp My Lent/Day 17

The Prompt:

From Beverly Daniel…

“Lady Moon lit your path to my door, my noble, sweet, constant companion.,my friend, and she will be there even after you are gone.”

The Product:

Eight phases of the moon = Eight poems about the moon

I. These Shoulders Upon Which

Virginia put stones in her pocket

Sylvia put her head in the oven

And Mrs. Sexton, poor Mrs. Sexton

Sara T and Sarah K


Somehow Emily figured it out

how to hang on

cope somehow

when the moonlight piercing

the window of the room of one’s own


too much

to bear

II. Slivers, Shards, Shafts


in the news

somewhere in america someone

is thinking

well hey

here’s an idea

let’s cut funding for HIV patients

for indigent HIV/AIDS patients

for the medications

that keep them alive

the foundation’s director ran the numbers


58 people

would be immediately affected

58 children men women

cut loose

wished well in their future endeavors

no medications

no treatments

no chance

58 people

who will not manage cope live work love pray

but sicken suffer linger

or not

and then


makes you wonder

what other

good ideas

someone in america

was thinking


III. New Moon

thank you please use some




thank you please use some

all day long saying

thank you please use some




after six years

saying this becomes rote like

breathing swallowing sleeping




thank you and please

use some


until one day

one child

eyes wide as the moon


like she’s discovered the meaning of life


and now it’s magic

IV. Eclipse/Blood Moon

lying on a quilt in the moonlight

shivering and quiet

holding self together


watching it steal the light

the shadow slowly sliding

the hand across the face

the light

the yellow dimming

the silver the blue the blood the blue the silver

and the yellow

and shivering and making wishes

wishing for company

wishing for warmth

wishing for company

alone oh not to be alone not so alone not now

not now

in this witness


moonbathing tonight

me on a quilt clutching my

camera close wheeee


Lady Moon bit you

took your wallet and your keys

she’s driving you home


wish on the moon please

no more sickness no more fear

pull me up and through

VIII.  Your Moon

Now they throw parties

for girls who start.

Yay! You got yours!

We’ll have a special day, just you and me!

This is a great day! It’s your day, your time –

Your moon is here. Yay.

There was no yay in my day!

Only fearful weeping and screaming

“Oh my god, am I bleeding to death!?”

My mother who’d come running just sighed,

And took down the beautiful lavender box

From high on the top shelf,

The lavender box with white filmy swooshes,

Labeled  “Napkins” –

The napkins that I’d thought were napkins

And how odd that she kept them in the bathroom but

she must be saving them for extra-special company,

because maybe relatives are coming in for Thanksgiving?

But no,

These napkins were a different sort.

Lovely they were not.

They were the size of small mattresses.

And I’m supposed to do what with it?”

Oh my GOD!

And I am standing there

burning heartsick burning shame

hearing that this will continue to happen to me

every month

for the next 45 to years or so.

I am 11 years old and I am bereft.

Isn’t there anything anybody can do about this? OH MY GOD!”

I calculate the year it will stop. I want to get there now.

More than anything, I want this horror over and done with.

Funny now.


Because now I am looking down the barrel,

Beginning to see and feel and know the signs

feeling wistful about the process

of my body






About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
This entry was posted in Pimp My Lent, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Eight Poems About the Moon

  1. dehelen says:

    We Yay’d my daughter’s with a ritual. For my granddaughter’s, we had a very civilized tea. I had the measles for my own. yay. And my box was Big Blue Kotex. woo hoo. I read Tina Fey’s article in the New Yorker where she described the Kotex Classic as having to wear a “loaf of bread.” She was relieved to learn that men grew up never having a clue that we girls were wearing them all that time, or at least they didn’t know when we had them on. Really? how could you not notice? And isn’t that the sole purpose of the Moon? to give women their periods? Thanks for writing these FABULOUS poems, V!

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