Daughter of the Night


photographer unknown: my apologies

Daughter of the Night

I took a walk in the body of the night. The full moon blew black clouds—brooding organs—beneath the cranial bowl of sky. Clouds moved big, like changing thoughts, massed forward and away, blacking out then whitening the dark. I fit into the night. My arms, legs, shifted shades of gray one and the same with all of it—the whole hill and field and hay bales, frigid grass, leaves, stalks crisp and spindly like brittle bones that gave out chatter as I crushed them underfoot. A tufted cedar grew dark at the peak of the hill. Off a ways. Lone at the top.

And the wind. Full of the moon’s white leaking into me. Blanching me everywhere. I opened to it. Dropped my pelvic floor, softened my chest, let go my knees a little, to let it know I would take anything, anything it was or had to give. I was all of it. Kin to the moon, the sky, clouds, hill, cedar. Yes.


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