Parabola
I've clerked all my life
in the Ministry of the Moon,
a fixed point on her long ellipse,
recording her perigees, her apogees,
her slow apotheoses,
while she lays
her lean silver arms across
the back of my chair, penciling in
corrections on my sedulous tallies
of tides the heart has taken in
given out, or given up.
These are not erasable
but sometimes she
strikes out a line
changes my totals
with her flickering hand,
all in pencil, all by moonlight remote
and hard as hammers;
but the sun is her bright clown, only
on fire to fill her midnight eye,
so who am I
not to dance along?
last day of June, 2025
posted for Word Garden Word List at
Images: Aurora vortex, author unknown, via internet Fair Use
Dark Dancers, ©Gina Jacob Fair Use
This such a striking poem, Hedge, and it gave me a feeling as if my emotions are ahead of my brain as i read, that I am already feeling it strongly before I analyze what and why. Our experiences and the way they shape us and our personal stories may seem fixed, like a math equation, or the measure of an arc, but some instinct--or outside influence--can indeed cross out (in pencil!) or make small adjustments and then the arc is made over, even if only incrementally. Anyone at NASA could tell, you that a tiny change in degree here can make a huge difference going forward. And the bright clown sun? Bright times are wonderful but i think it is the dark and the silver light that really shape who we are and who we become. So layered, so deceptively simple, and with the only-Hedge aspects of the parabola and the sedulous tallies. It sound you and sounds like me. I love this.
ReplyDelete*sounds like
ReplyDeleteIt is always such a pleasure to read your poems, Hedge. I love the moon leaning her silver arms across the back of the chair.....making her corrections. Wonderful!
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderfully magical poem - it flows beautifully like a song and the imagery is so rich and warming - Jae
ReplyDeletethe first verse reminds me of Harry Potter, or perhaps (pre-creepy, if there was such a time) Neil Gaiman, deftly weaving magic into the quotidien.
ReplyDeletethe silver arm in the second and third brings the mage closer, closer still, follicle-tingling close, sinuous - and then the hammer!
and such an acid-sharp vision of her minion, 'the sun is her bright clown' - and if one such as that is dancing to her , then who indeed are we not to, too?
Oh so beautiful!! I love the portrait on the moon! (Jo)
ReplyDeleteYou are ~ the dancing queen! Your poetry leaves me wanting more, I love returning to days gone bye to read a few more of your poems.
ReplyDeletethe moon tied to the tides of the heart (hah, so it's not just the ocean?). and yes, of course, there will always be the need for correction regarding matters of the heart ...
ReplyDeletegorgeous writing! a pleasure to read.
Who indeed? This poem is so satisfying. As complete as a full moon. I especially love the image of lean silver arms across the back of the chair.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous, Joy! Love the whole description of the moon's silver arms on the back of your chair, making tallies of the tides of your heart! I felt myself in a realm of the gods with your poem 🌟🌙
ReplyDeleteYou had me at “I've clerked all my life / in the Ministry of the Moon…” I love everything about this, the moon’s ability to correct the tides of your heart, even though “These are not erasable…” Might be the most powerful line. Then “all in pencil, all by moonlight remote / and hard as hammers;” is perfectly poignant and yet striking a blow. And the way you capture the sun’s relationship to the moon - a jester to the Queen of Night, yes, but the light that tethers their dance. Beautifully done.
ReplyDelete