Scorpio

The rain stopped for a few moments, and I was wearing that pink raincoat still so I was too warm.

There was a flower roofed cottage hidden on the edge of the woods, glistening.

It was the full moon after we had let go of things, burned them under a bare tree in that same park,

the moon above framed by its arms. The sky above, then. A possum creeping to catch more light.

Now, Cassi gazed at the clouds and everything was green, except

white blooms and pink moon and the dirt, which was wet and brown.

It was the time between Mount Tabor’s exhale and inhale,

that empty but warm lingering. It was just us

there,

me and Cassi and the dog in the paused rain under the moon.

*****In 2018, I spent the pink moon in Portland, Oregon. It was in Scorpio. Two weeks earlier, at the new moon, Cassi and I sat under a tree by the reservoir in Mt. Tabor Park with tarot cards, candles that kept blowing out, and a particular kind of heaviness we both carry around like stones in our pockets. I led us into one of the first moon ceremonies I held. It felt powerful. I don't remember what I wrote on the pieces of paper I burned, but I know I began a powerful series of transformations that night. This poem is about walking in Mount Tabor Park in the rain, reflecting on the power the place held for me, at the culmination of the moonseeds I planted.*****