Moon Crumbs

When both mind and body are in trauma, where do we go?

By R.C. TaylorPublished 3 years ago • 1 min read

Daytime rot was lost from her as long as she ate the celestial night prey

Insightful Vulture had advised her so to keep the vicious pain at bay

So she sipped the night sky from the pond where stars swam with the fish

Though only muddy water and hints of stardust touched her mortal lips

Resolute to shun the day, she reeled in, with only twig and spiderweb,

Abundant moon with the still face of her beloved grandmother, light ebbed

Crying, she spent months ravenously eating, dressed in luminous crumbs,

‘Til she could no longer and then last of grandmother moon smiled like sun

“I love you. You’re ready. It is time to break. You are not alone. I got you”.

Opulent daylight broke through night with inevitable surety of rising anew

“Nurse! Nurse! Her eyes! Get the doctor! Please God, who did this to you—”

I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.

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