It is 15th of August and the moon has another few days to go until he becomes full on 18th August exactly. They call it a humpbacked moon, also known as ‘waxing gibbous’ because he still has that little bit of the back to still grow….Like him, I also have 3 days to go before I fly out to see my children who are currently spending holidays with their grandparents. I will gather them up like little crumbs from one country and bring to another (this is a reference to my previous blog!).

I look outside the window in the row of Victorian houses somewhere in the Midlands and remind myself of the poem I wrote a few years ago, when my children were still very small and, in constant looking after their everyday needs, I have almost lost my identity. It goes like this…

The moon where I live
Sucks up all darkness
It’s a pond upside down

The moon that I know
Casts a circle of brightness
A Chinese lantern dangling in the sky

Like a pot of honey never falling
She just sits there waiting for my glance

I no longer ask any questions
What’s the air like or is there any noise?
I am quite happy sitting near the window
Resting my eyes on the distant ball of stone

I narrow my view – does She ever wonder
Am I a blot of blood, a stubborn stain
Or just a fleeting interest
With a shimmering spotlight
A random puppet
Positioned in a frame…?

A shut of an eye and everything’s forgotten
There is nothing of me imprinted on the Moon

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