. In fact it wasn't my first choice, I wanted to be "moondancer", but that was taken, so I chose worshipthemoon
as second best and called my LJ "moondancer". The reason I did this is a bit long-winded, so you might want to miss the next bit, under the cut.( Read more...Collapse )
Like the Moon
She was Molly, like the Moon,
luminous, distant, beautiful.
Brown, pubescent, awkward,
I worshipped her as I did the moon.
I watched her pale, self-conscious grace,
studied the dark mark of her shining beauty,
admired the black silk gloves she wore
to set off her fine elbows and white arms.
Sweetly she taught and, bewitched,
I mashed the paper into the watery glue,
laid it in strips over the dull clay,
learning about fascination.
I didn't know I was her project,
her training teacher's subject,
but I was her subject right enough.
Her later tragic story always appalled me;
she knew less than I thought.
And when the whizz-bang fireworks man
runs along the street, scattering bangers like roses,
I remember family fireworks and a bonfire,
and leaping, dancing home,
away from that brooding house,
twirling, spinning in that cold star night,
curtseying to Lady Moon and vowing.........what?
Then taking her picture from the bureau drawer,
I gaze at her in black and white, wondering
why such grace was not enough to save her.
PS I wonder about that line I've marked in red. I can't make up my mind whether I should lose it, or keep it.
The whizz-bang fireworks man actually existed.
When we first moved here in 1999 people started letting off fireworks from about September onwards and a strange man twice ran down our street early in the morning, barefoot and scattering bangers left and right as he ran, like a bridesmaid scattering petals from her basket at a wedding.