Odd Ball

This moon

this changing mood

am I waxing

am I waning

am I full?

These empty ovaries

twin moons

white nodules in the sea

of me

fireless

stony and silent.

My mood slithers from orbit

like a cracked egg

sliding

down my thigh

I’m moving

toward uselessness.

My mother

assures me,

the time beyond this time

eclipses

this night’s passage

these moonless days.

Last night

a shine penetrated

my sleep

and when I drew aside the curtain

to curse my neighbour

it was the moon!

Cold

and glaring

a full spot light of insomnia

burning through

my stony odd balls.

© Sandy Day 2013

Filed under: poems Tagged: menopause, poems, Sandy Day